Bikes Post Peak

I promise you lots is coming about Pike's Peak. More than you really want to read. The thing is, once I write this down I won't want to tell it anymore. I end up just reciting what I wrote. So I am telling for a couple more days, then pickling the story here for whomever it might interest.

But do you want to hear about the week after Pike's Peak? It involved bicycles. Lots of them. We followed the US Pro Cycling Challenge for a few days. Rode our bikes in Colorado Springs all around town, to the Garden of the Gods, down to the sharp corner that the pros screamed around (the brakes literally screaming), and then hauled tail across town on the bike path to watch the prologue finish line.

Tried to find the singletrack in Salida and fumbled around on rocky doubletrack, then rode a pea-gravel road along the railroad track and river. Milled around amidst the pros before the stage start (no big pro encounters but I did get my picture taken with Bob Roll). Again, hauled tail across town to watch the cyclists exit Salida after their two parade laps.

Rode around Aspen by evening with our pal Patty, who is a strong cyclist and one of the most hospitable people I have ever met (and I have met Russians, who make a religion out of it), then the next morning did a 15 mile bike path ride, part paved and part sandy gritty gravel, to Woody Creek. Rode along the side of a bluff, past a waterfall, above a rapid river, amongst the oaks and pines and aspens.

By the end of the week my legs had pretty well recovered from the shock they'd been through. That first ride was rough. Legs felt like cooked pasta and I hyperventilated. By the last ride, I was daydreaming of riding someday over Independence Pass. Which my beloved has done twice. Wow. I hug somebody every day whose body was capable of riding over that mountain.

But then, look who HE gets to hug on. Ha!

Today's Tune
Annie's Song, by John Denver. I'm feeling all sentimental what with the talk of hugging.