What's more, I'm not even able to really remember the CTR all that well. It's quite like an intensely vivid dream that you just had, but upon waking you can only vaguely recall the feelings it gave you, not necessarily the specifics. I guess while out there I was simply in a completely different mindset than normal, and now that I'm back to home, work, normal life, the space that mindset occupied is somewhat occluded, hidden behind a semi-opaque curtain of normal brain activity and day-to-day routine. In any case, I don't have any major detailed stories to relate, in print anyway, and I took no photos. I'll share a few general observations, some highs and lows, and re-post some photos that friends took along the way.
General observations: I knew going in, intellectually at least, that the CTR was going to be a mental test more than anything. I had ridden some 12-hour rides this year, and a couple overnight trips, but nothing physically I did came anywhere close to six 18-hour days in a row. My legs and lungs weren't what I had to push through, however - it was my own mind. I wanted to quit at least once a day; I felt uncomfortable and unsure often; several times I denounced the whole endeavor as quite silly. It got to the point where I began visualizing my will as a stretchy rubber membrane, and a couple times I genuinely began visualizing that membrane finally giving in and snapping. The CTR, for me, was 95% mental. It should be said that I felt very well prepared physically and gear-wise beforehand, and that if those two things hadn't been in place, the mental battle never would have had occasion to take place. The CTR is the first "race" I've ever done in which I didn't care how well I was doing, position-wise - I simply wanted to finish, and finish I did. My favorite part about the whole thing was meeting some wonderful new people. It's amazing how something like the CTR can take away all the superficial social layers we normally approach people with and allows you to bond very quickly with like-minded individuals. John Ross from the UK and Aaron Weinsheimer (?) from Salida stand out as exceptional people I met.
Highs: In no particular order... The twilight-hour double rainbow over the Angel of Shavano area that Aaron and I caught sight of once breaking into a meadow after roosting down aspen-lined hero-dirt trails; riding solo for five+ hours in pouring rain and darkness after Leadville; blasting down from Kokomo Pass just ahead of a big storm cell; coming through uninhabited woods for hours at night only to hear someone, somewhere, blasting Bob Dylan at midnight ("like a rolling stone"); eating hot dogs in a bar (I hate hot dogs); making it to Silverton at 8:35pm after absolutely destroying myself for two hours at 12K with no food, just to get to the Silverton grocery stores before 9:00pm closing time; finishing at Junction Creek with Sandhya, Adam, Mel, and others there to greet us.
Lows: Realizing that the Silverton grocery stores actually closed at 8:00pm, making me 35 minutes late instead of 25 early, and leaving me with almost no food options (hence the hot dogs in the bar); getting spooked half to death by a herd of cattle in the middle of the night in the woods, not realizing at first what they were as my headlamp simply picked out a dozen very large pairs of reflective eyes staring at me; ordering breakfast burritos at a little Leadville bakery only to discover that they were of the commercial frozen variety, unlike all the delicacies in the bakery case; awaking the morning after the all-night rain ride to find my crankset wouldn't spin due to waterborne sand that had permeated my drivetrain; the point during every day at which I simply thought the CTR was the dumbest thing ever invented; Sargent's Mesa; and the time I was walking through a giant herd of cattle only to look up and see the largest bull I'd ever seen staring me down from 20 feet distant (I kept waiting, comically, for the Ferdinand the Bull hoof-scratch, pre-charge); learning that Zach Guy, the guy who finished third, took major advantage of the post-office-drop-rule and effectively cheated (same as last year, but even more flagrant - I guess even with no prize, some people just can't help themselves).
Interesting stuff: The lightning strike at 13K that hit within 100 feet of our current riding party; Mark, the lives-in-his-van guy who happened to walk up and offer me a box of granola bars as I was laying on the ground, about to drop out due to lack of food (real trail magic!); the giant bear that I just knew we'd see on the final descent into Durango, thereby quite confusing my British riding companion by whistling at every brushy section, only to not see any bear... but then, upon talking to Cat Morrison, who finished 15 minutes ahead of us, learning that SHE had flushed the largest black bear she'd ever seen on the final descent (we got so lucky, and I was vindicated in John's eyes).
A few photos by Chris Miller (I may add more later, as John Ross took a bunch):
Cataract Ridge in the afternoon golden hour
All this riding makes for a sleepy Aaron. He'd been sitting down for about 10 seconds.
A storm cell that eventually chased us off the ridge for a bit.
Some techy rock climbing by yours truly in order to make the summit of a ridge.
30 miles of this will almost make you cry... and it will make you walk. Sargents Mesa.
Taking a break at the top of Georgia Pass... I wasn't with this group at the time.
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