the flatlanders' pinnacle
We woke up at 4:45 (obviously to an alarm - no WAY are 22-year-olds going to wake up naturally at that time), then fell back asleep until another alarm went off at 5:20. I don’t recall why we wanted to wake up that early, especially considering how cold it was. We estimated around 34 degrees, but looking back, we’d been living in Texas and California so our internal thermometers were probably a bit skewed.
I rode with socks on my hands for gloves as we pedaled past Capulin Volcano, clouds clinging to the top, and watched as the sun slowly rose, magnificent in its progressive, pastel entry into the day. Ahead of us is Raton Pass, our first real climb of the trip. We’re pretty psyched for it, and start grinding out the yards.
There would be many individual moments of wonder and awe which would make this entire trip worthwhile. One of them occurred as we rounded a curve and I saw, for the first time in my life, the Rockies in all their snow-capped majesty. Flatlanders all, we stopped for a moment to silently gawk at the beauty.
Gathering ourselves, we then began the real ascent to the pass. Scott’s crank is worsening. It really is a piece of garbage, making horrible sounds in its death throes, and yet he’s always ahead of us. We stopped for a large breakfast and stared at each other, silent and grinning with bloodshot eyes and snot glistening at our nostrils from the cold. The ascent is a real challenge, our first TRUE climb, and we’re feeling up for it. Excited. Eager.
At 10:30 we start pedaling, side by side, each in our own mental worlds. Halfway up the pass, the tape in Jerry’s tape Walkman tape player ends, at which point he falls behind and almost stops pedaling as his motivation clicked off with the cassette tape’s ending. Then it’s Scott and I, shoulder to shoulder, each of us breathing in our own rhythm. Nearing the top, he breaks his rhythm for some reason and falls back. I barely notice. There’s nothing in my universe except the road five feet in front of me and the steady rhythm of my breathing harmonizing with the spin of my crank. I will not stop. I will not slow. My thighs burn from the exertion. My lungs burn from the cold. I am happy.
Or maybe just hypoxic from the lack of oxygen at an elevation of 7835 feet.
At the top, there’s a lot of hand slapping and yelling. Scott does a wheelie (yes, a wheelie on a loaded touring bike with a barely-functioning crank. Perhaps now you’ll fully understand his cycling skills).
Completing our first ascent was quite a feeling of accomplishment, and after our short celebratory victory over Nature, we coasted a couple of miles and stopped at the Scenic Overlook to take in the scenery and let our rims cool.
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2 years ago