Flying down through the sagebrush, along a lush green creek in an otherwise very dry and arid area, I’m elated with the ease of a bicycle on a nice gravel road. Eventually, the road levels out and then pitches back up. Now, instead of marveling, I am cursing the slowness of the fully loaded bike, knowing that I could run, or even hike, faster uphill than I am pedaling. I try to remind myself that at least I am outside moving under my own power, and that’s really all that matters.
Bicycles can offer a viable alternative to movement when injuries hamper foot travel. All photos: Hannah Green
I rode out from my home in Silverton, Colorado, over to Lake City and connected into the Sage and Saddles bikepacking route that iRunFar’s own Eszter Horanyi helped bring to fruition. Foot travel — running, hiking, walking — will always be my preferred mode of travel, but when you have an injury, biking seems like the next best thing, at least in the summer. Or so they say. My butt, back, and quads all would probably say differently. Bikes have long been touted as great cross-training tools for runners, and if the soreness in my legs is any indication, it would probably behoove me to do more of it. Also, there’s the appeal of being able to cross big landscapes when my body isn’t liking foot travel.
Pedaling along the sagebrush valleys.
I struggle up the pavement to Slumgullion Pass, then float down the beginning of Cebolla Creek Road. I stop at a campground for the night and, in the morning, wander with my coffee to watch a moose chowing down on whatever grows in the ponds. I know they like willows, but I’m not sure what they like that grows in the water. Nonetheless, it’s a pleasant morning in a new spot. Camping is the one thing that keeps my soul alive. Getting out and observing what’s right in front of me, and sleeping on the ground.
A moose has breakfast in a pond.
A couple of days later, I pedal out of the small town of Pitkin. Rather than taking the original route, I go to visit the Alpine Tunnel, an old railroad track that used to cross the Continental Divide by going through the mountain rather than over it. I push my bike up the trail above the tunnel and mostly walk it along the Continental Divide Trail until it smooths out and I can ride down to Tincup Pass Road. I meet some runners training for the High Lonesome 100 Mile and a thru-hiker doing the Collegiate Loop. Even though it is midday, I am tempted to stop and make camp up high. The views, the tundra, and the quietude are so lovely.
A visit to the old Alpine Tunnel train stop.
I pedal into the small old town of Tincup the next morning and eat breakfast at the one restaurant in town, Frenchy’s. As I pedal out, the ATV crowd is starting to wake up. I spend a few hours getting dusted by them, and it makes me miss the wilderness. Once I turn off the main road, though, the quiet of the forest returns, and I relax. The accumulated dust makes the creeks and water that much more amazing.
A stop at the historic Tin Cup store.
After a few days into the loop, I pedal back into Lake City, with one more pass and one more night to get me home to Silverton. I find a good camping spot up high, but the reality of the world sets in as smoke fills the mountains. The past month has felt a bit solemn. Injury, loss, and now wildfires, all taking some of the most treasured things in life. Staring at the stars and sitting in the solace of the flowing creek, sometimes it feels like the natural world is all we have left. When we think we know what strength is, it breaks. When we think we know what love is, we lose it. When we think we know what hope is, it burns. But when we watch the birds flitting between the branches and the light shimmering off the water, we suddenly have it all, and the world feels alright.
Wildfire smoke fills the San Juan Mountains.
I hope everyone finds their own bit of solace through the haze these days.
Call for Comments
- What is your relationship with the bicycle as a form of movement?
- What techniques do you have for coping during difficult times?
