Parades and Paradoxes

Parades and Paradoxes

Rejuvenated after an evening hanging with our wives, we set out early the next morning for what we knew would be the flattest and least scenic our five-day ride. Only 70+ miles stood between us and Brennan's front door, but it is never that easy, right? Wrong. Today it was that easy. Flat, relatively little wind, mostly paved roads, and bike trails for the last 15 or so miles into Denver. This last day reminded me a lot of our rides through Indiana with wheat replacing the corn as we rolled past farm after farm, and crossed upwards of 15 sets of railroads tracks. 

Once we hit the outskirts of Denver, fatigue of the four arduous days before began to weigh down our legs, and our pace slowed, but never stopped…just keep pedaling. We rolled through REI's Outdoor Festival, and with music blasting and cyclists surrounding us we pressed on the last few miles to arrive at a house with...wait for it...no one there. Costello and Amy had beaten us to Denver, and decided to wait for us at the library a few blocks away. Sarah and Haley had gone to the New Belgium Brewery that morning, so their ETA was to be determined, but it only took one phone call to find out that our proud wives were only minutes away with a growler of Rolle Bolle (New Belgium's summer seasonal) ready to celebrate with us. Although it was not the climactic greeting that we had hoped for (with streamers, TV stations, parades, and fountains of beer), it more than sufficed for our tired bodies and thirsty mouths. Ride number four was in the books, and, with the help of our stalwart sherpa Costello, we made it through another year without any major injuries or incidents. 

As we looked back on this year's ride it was inevitable that we would see where it ranked with all of the others. We have loved (and loathed) all of the rides for different reasons, but we began to make a distinction between them. There were rides that were good because the ending place/events were amazing, and that would be our rides from Cincinnati to Chicago - where we ended at Wrigley Field watching the Reds dismantle the Cubs on a gorgeous 4th of July weekend - and from Houston to New Orleans - where many of our friends met us for an unforgettable weekend in the Big Easy. However, when it comes to the actual miles on the bike it was Kentucky and Colorado that took the cake for us. Every day the scenery was different and breathtaking. Every day the stopping points were unique and memorable. And every day the challenges were demanding and (in a way) galvanizing for us as riders and as friends. A shared experience. 

One thing is for sure, I felt more of a sense of accomplishment on this ride than any of the previous ones, and not because we reached our destination (I always knew we would, eventually, get there), but because we enjoyed the pains and pleasures along the way. As grueling as the climb up Trail Ridge Road was, the descent into Estes Park and Big Thompson Canyon eclipses all other rides on a bicycle. And when you have worked for that reward, then the primal cry you let out speeding down that mountain at 40 miles an hour echoes louder and rings truer to passers by than any roller coaster scream that can be heard in an amusement park because it is not fear but ecstasy that coursed through your veins in that moment. We rode along side antelopes and elk and cattle and marmots, and they were goodly enough to ignore our intrusion long enough that we felt like we belonged on those dirt roads in Northern Colorado. 

The last day of riding on this trip is always a bit of a paradox: part of me is ecstatic that I don't have to get up at 6:45 and ride 70 plus miles, over unfathomable rock formations, on questionable terrain, in whatever weather gets thrown at us; the other part of me is devastated that I know what my day will bring (for the most part) and that I don't get to explore parts of the country I've never seen before in that most vulnerable state of exhaustion and awe for another year. But alas, the moustache has been shaved, the legs (and liver) are recuperating, and real world descends upon us again.