Time: 5 days 12 hours 21 minutes
Total miles ridden: 544.24
Elevation gain: 74,533 ft (22,717 meters)
First woman to cross the finish Line! 10th(ish) overall (there were a couple of DQ’s in the men’s field, but I’m counting them as finishers)
I went into the race with the hopeful goal of winning the women’s field. Being on the other end, having accomplished that goal, nevertheless feels a bit surreal. Reading about the race and the finishers has been a favorite hobby of mine since I learned of the event, and it seems odd to finally be writing about my experience out there rather than merely dreaming of it.
After years of curiosity about the mountain bike race scene, I showed up for my first bike races this summer with the CTR in mind from the start. After a few local races and one Colorado Endurance series event, I was all the more excited for the Colorado Trail. Never far from that excitement, however, were the competitive nerves that I had not felt since I stopped playing soccer in college. As the day of the start approached I tried to focus my energy on prepping my bike and gear, but despite my best intentions still found myself doing my best impression of a chicken with its head cut off the day before the 4am group start: swapping my bottom bracket, picking up tires for another racer, driving through Leadville to meet Mark for lunch, running around Denver traffic for a few last minute items, and cramming granola bars into my frame bag at 10 pm the night before the race. The result was a mere four hours of sleep the night before I started a race where I intended to sleep as little as possible for six days straight and an ache in my hips and low back from sitting in the car for hours on end.
Indeed, I was full of doubt on day one. After the excitement of the first hours wore off and the riders began to spread out I was left on my own with an achy body and already sleepy mind. It was going to be a long ride and I was already feeling so far off from my best. Was this the best I could hope to feel for the rest of the race? How was I going to wake up tomorrow and do this again? This would mark the start of a pattern for me; at around noon every day I would lose the freshness of the morning and look out at the day ahead of me and wonder if I would be able to finish. Then, I would catch another rider, or they would catch me, I would meet a friendly hiker on trail, I would find myself on a ripping descent or enjoying the views high on a ridgeline and in another hour or two my mind would be clear of anxieties, absorbed by the experience at hand.
While my self doubt ebbed and flowed, I was almost constantly gripped by the idea that I would be caught by the other racers. I held a lead on the other women for the entirety of the race, but I could not help but imagine that a strong kick from them while I was asleep or fumbling through a resupply would leave me chasing them to the finish. I checked their dots on Trackleaders when I could, trying not to waste time doing so, and I kept general tabs on the riders around me as we leap frogged along. Most of the riders close to me slept less, and moved faster on the bike, so my main goal was to just keep moving. Several times I rolled into resupplies after and left before my competitors, or I would catch up to them while they were putting on sunscreen. After the last five years of thru travel, this–I was realizing–was my strength. It had actually been a joke amongst some of my hiking partners on the CDT in 2020; they laughed as I took jackets on and off, brushed my teeth, checked my map, braided my hair, all while bumbling along down the trail; anything to avoid stopping. Here it meant eating on the bike when I could (I am still very bad at this), timing my water carries to stop as little as possible, and once taking my shoe off and hiking without it for a stretch on a long section of hike-a-bike in order to give the bursitis in my heel some relief.
This knowledge of myself, however, made it all the more excruciating when I did have to stop. Time off the bike felt like time I would never get back. If packing up my bike, resupplying, putting in contacts, or bending my derailleur hanger back into place took longer than expected I would worry that those minutes, which add up to hours over the course of a race this long, would be enough to lose my place. To answer all my worrying, on the last day I was passed by two riders who I had been very close to the entire race; one while I was still in my sleeping bag at 5 am (I slept an extra hour when I saw that the woman closest to me stayed in Silverton the night before) and another while I was putting in my contacts so I could wear my lowlight sunglasses on the overcast day. The both of them had a strong push to the end, and they were already relaxing in camp chairs when I rolled into the finish; next time I will only be wearing my prescription sunglasses.
In one of many incredible moments at Junction Creek, Alexandera Houchin (the current and official Southbound record holder) herself was at the finish with a hug and a congratulations for me! She did not race the CTR this year, but she has been setting and breaking her own records on the Colorado Trail for years now, and it was when Mark mentioned her Single Speed course record to me several years ago that I first started to think that racing the Colorado Trail would be a possibility for me too (although I still have not left behind my derailleur). In preparing for this race, I read loads of her writing in an attempt to glean something from her years of experience. To be there at the finish with Alex, Mark and the other CTR riders and supporters was almost as exciting as racing itself. I feel incredibly lucky to be able to take part in this community.
Because there were a few closures and subsequent detours on the CT this year, it was not a record setting year, so I will take an asterisks/honorable mention for completing the fastest women’s time on the Southbound race. But after finally racing the CTR myself, I have a new perspective on the overall course records. I am more impressed than ever by the times that riders have put out over the years, especially now that I see that every year is so different to each racer. Even as I shared the trail with other riders, my ride was totally unique. I had incredible weather; I was only rained on once, and found cool overcast days in the hottest parts of the trail. On Sargent’s Mesa, riders just 25 miles ahead of me got caught in a huge hail storm where I stayed basically unscathed. In previous years riders have had to spent days slogging through mud where I was lucky to have tacky, near perfect trail conditions for much of my ride. There was maybe 5 or 6 different coolers full of trail magic (coca-cola, capri-sun, chips, candy) left for the racers this year, each a little gem in tough sections of trail. The trail detours at Copper Mountain and outside of Twin Lakes traded out a few miles of single track for quicker dirt roads.
I am so thankful for this trail and this experience: to Jefe Branham for taking on the daunting task of hosting this race; to all of the women who have ridden the trail over the years, and brought down the women’s FKT by days over the last several years; to Mark for the hashbrowns at the finish and for believing in me, encouraging me, and helping me build and maintain my bike; to all the riders I have gotten to spend time on bikes with this summer; to Strafe for my new favorite riding outfit; to our local Oakley rep for the helmet and sunglasses; and to all the friends who supported the vision.
But of course, the joy of racing is not only being out there with the clock running, but in knowing that there are other kooks out on trail at 11 pm when you are pushing your bike up one of the best alpine descents in the state. So biggest thanks to all the other racers who rolled along out there and made it happen!
Bikes or Death Podcast interview
