
I know it’s taken me a while to finish this story…it’s taken a while to work through much in my life that’s happened, so I’ll pick up where I left off.
July 9th, 2022 Joe and I camped on public land just outside of Silverton Colorado at a public campsite along a stream.
We were 2 weeks in to our adventure and on the morning of July 9th, I honestly was getting worn out. We had ridden out of the desert in Utah (a story all it’s own) and then put a half day of pavement to get to Colorado to come over Ophir Pass on the HARD Ouray side. The day before that, Joe and I had done Shafer’s Trail on the inside face of The Canyonlands where I thought I was going to die. ‘Going to die’ close calls were not around EVERY corner, but there were a few. Cliffs, trucks backing out of blind curves, rocks in the wrong spots.…I could have counted the times but that’s not what these trips are for.
On that morning I looked at my motorcycle tire on the bike and knew I needed to finally change it with the brand new tire I had been carrying with me the entire trip. Unfortunately that would require some time off from riding. I didn’t want to do that until I absolutely had to.
As worn as my tire was, my mind was worn too.
2 weeks of on and off-road riding, camping in a tent, and almost falling off the edge of the world were taking a toll on me. I felt it, I knew it, and I told Joe I was going to take the morning off, change the tire at our current campsite, and rest while he went riding for the day.
But I didn’t…
We packed up and decided to ride the “Million Dollar Highway” into Ouray. It’s a beautiful paved windy road that cuts through the mountains with breath taking scenery…in the morning air, high up as we were, it was a cool, crisp, sweet feel that morning. Joe and I talked on our headsets and as we approached Ouray where I said I was going to stop and spend the day changing my tire and walk around the hip little town.
But I didn’t.
I thought I would follow Joe for a while so we turned off the road, did some off-road trails and ‘minor’ passes. We stopped at an old abandoned structure and messed with our bikes for a minute, had a quick snack and a drink of water, and headed over to Imogene Pass. I thought it would be like all the other passes we had done, coming down the easy side of the pass to Telluride stopping to enjoy lunch.
But I wouldn’t.
Imogene Pass had a reputation as a pretty hard pass for big bikes as far as Colorado goes, or anywhere for that matter. I had watched a GoPro video of an adventure rider going over it and I really didn’t see the big deal…but videos are deceiving and it’s hard to get a real understanding of what riding a large bike loaded with gear feels like until you’re there.
At the base of the pass, the 4 wheel drive trail was pretty gnarly but fun. The path cuts in and out of deep puddles and rock beds and peculiar obstacles, and paying attention to every detail was pretty serious business. We passed an older mountain biker on some of the steep inclines only to have him catch back up to us a couple times as we stopped from time to time to pick our routes around/over/through things.
The ascend turns steep quickly as you get above the tree line…going up the high pitch inclines with loose ‘baby heads’ everywhere. Baby heads are rocks that are roughly the size of…you guessed it…baby heads. The rocks are loose and bigger in size making it hard to go over in a straight line on level ground, but put them all over the steep trail up and your route is ‘difficult’ to say the least. It’s physically taxing to control your ride, keep up your speed, and keep your bouncing 550 pound bike on the path.
As we’re getting toward the top, we can see the ridge line and I thought it would get easier.
It did not.
We come to a place where the climb isn’t so steep but there’s a ‘step’ ahead of us. Joe’s first and I’m following. The path splits around a big group of rocks in the middle. Joe takes the right side that climbs steeply, his tires spitting rocks out trying to maintain momentum and control. I look at the trail, and determine to the left seems a little more gentle and decide to take it.
Rounding the rock formation, I come face to face with the steepest loose rock hill I have probably ever tried to climb…it’s about a 45 degree climb of 15 feet. I knew I was screwed, but gave my bike all the gas it could take in as it struggled with the low oxygen altitude. I got about halfway up before gravity sucked the momentum out of my ride and we both fell over and slid back to the bottom.
I was frustrated and quite honestly a little pissed off. A guy in a side by side stopped to help me right my bike and I tried fruitlessly to ride the rock wall again with another failed attempt. My bike on the ground, I was alone as the Good Samaritan had left not wanting anything to do with my next attempt…I stood for a minute to catch my breath.
Half exhausted, the bike laying on the ground, I dragged the front tire over to point it back down the hill because I knew I needed to go back down to the last plateau and take another run at it following Joe’s path.
By this time I’m fatigued, out of breath, and a little angry as Joe’s head pops out at the top of my impossible rock climb.
“Whatcha doing?” He says with a smile on his face.
He was amused. I was not amused, I was frustrated.
We talk for a minute or two as I wonder if getting to the top of Imogene is worth it…but Joe points to the ridge line… we can “SEE the top of the pass…it’s right there” he says and points about 1000 yards from where we are.
There is another reason to finish this twisted trail up to the top. Once we get to the top, the downhill trail on the other side to Telluride is supposed to be very easy. So, to start down from this point could be real pain, as compared to the easy route that was just 1000 yards away.
I get on my bike, ride down the steep embankment to a flat spot where I can get turned around and point my bike back up the hill and give it hell…going RIGHT around the rock formation this time, barreling past Joe and continue the last 1000 yards to the peak, I felt victorious against the mountain and smiled at the top.
The peak of Imogene pass is pretty spectacular. Lots of rock and some snow still to be seen in July. Not much green, not much living up there…the air is thin and crisp, a bit nippy compared to the base temperature. The only signs of civilization are a couple 4×4 vehicles up there with their passengers, and a view of the mountain ridges around us.
At the flat spot where we take a minute, my heart skips a beat and my smile fades as there is a sign and barricade on the trail going down to Telluride that says “Road Closed”…our easy way down is not an option.
I get a sinking feeling.
Resting at the top, we get off our bikes and take a minute. There’s a few others up here taking in the peak…a couple in a Cherokee and a realtor from Phoenix in a Wrangler.
Of course there’s another realtor up here I thought! We shoot the shit for a few minutes about ‘the business’… but weighing on me is the descent off this beast of a trail. After 15 minutes, I’m ready to make my way down…acutely aware that my balding back tire should have been changed with the brand new one I was carrying.
When you’re going uphill, if you make a mistake on the bike, you pull in the clutch and grab the front brake and the bike comes to a complete stop VERY quickly because gravity is working with you to stop.
However…when going downhill, gravity works against you and it’s harder to stop. The more weight you carry, the harder it is.
We start down, Joe in the lead.
There are several ‘drops’ where the trail is steep and then levels off. You try to control your slide on the drop and then bring yourself to a stop on the level as you study the next drop.
We come to this rock formation and Joe goes right and it’s a STEEP drop off…and I wait at the top for him to clear the 20 foot steep section and get to the edge of the next drop.
(In hindsight, Joe says this the the exact spot I couldn’t get up on my way up…we needed to go left to the less challenging route, but we went right)
I start down the steep section with barely any movement but the bike starts to pick up speed immediately. I pump the brakes trying to crawl down it but instead of slowing the bike starts to speed up in its slide and I realize that gravity is now in control. I am along for the ride.
In the millisecond the bike starts to take off I realize I have to get the bike to stop or 1 of 2 things was going to happen. 1- I was going to run into Joe, or 2- I was going to slide off the trail into the rocks.
When something like this happens, your mind does what it does…not like you get to think about your options. I instinctively put the bike into a sideways slide down the hill…back tire to the right, front to the left. In this action I thought to myself to ride the bike down the slide instead of falling/jumping/stepping off to try to control it and keep it on the trail.
What ended up happening was that my left ankle rolled and then slid under the bike as it fell. The left crash bar ended up landing on my leg just above my ankle with a good portion of the bike weight on my lower leg. Still sliding down the embankment, the weight of the bike hammers my leg trapped between the crash-bar and the rocky trail.
Adrenaline kicked in immediately as the pain shot through my body and the bike came to rest. I tried to stand but my leg was trapped under the bike. I pulled, thinking my foot would slide out but the bike’s weight was on the boot kept me pinned.
“I’m down…and need help.” I say to Joe through the headset.
Joe ran back and helped me get the bike off my leg. I can’t put my weight on it. A dread falls on me.
I’m hurt
I’m hurt at the top of a 4 wheel drive mountain pass in Colorado.
…and this is bad in a LOT of ways.
Just as all this was happening…do you remember the older mountain biker that we passed?! He just so happened to be right there when it happened… running up he explains he’s some kind of wilderness EMT and started checking me out.
The next short period of time, he examined my already swelling ankle and leg. He didn’t think it was broken but it also wasn’t ok because I couldn’t walk on it. I shouldn’t/couldn’t ride the rest of the way down…Joe didn’t WANT to ride my bike down…and we all thought that I needed to get to an emergency room to see what kind of damage was done.
The REMAX agent from Phoenix with the Rubicon Jeep was on his way down and just happened to catch us at this time. He didn’t give it a second thought as he got me strapped into his jeep with my wallet and a quick change of clothes to head to the bottom. We pulled the key out of the ignition on my bike and left it on the kickstand on the side of the trail where she would sit by herself all night.
In the Jeep, on the way down, I felt more helpless than I’ve maybe ever felt in my life. My adventure was over, I was injured, and I had no idea on how to get my bike down from the top of the mountain, let alone get it back to Cincinnati.
It was a long painful ride down to the bottom.
Once in Ouray, my swelling and turning purple foot and ankle were examined by an EMT and then taken 45 miles north to a Montrose Urgent Care where they informed me my fibula was fractured along with the badly sprained ankle. They put me in a medical boot, gave me crutches and said see a doctor when I got back home, ‘good luck’.
I spent the next hour in the waiting area talking to people who worked at the urgent care who said to be careful where I went to spend the night. That night I got a hotel room and worked with Joe over the phone to get a plan together.
It was an awful night, but things came together slowly.
Joe found a 4×4 company owner who would ride my bike down first thing tomorrow while I found a transport to get back to Ouray in the morning to meet at the 4×4 company.
Arriving in Ouray that morning, I went to the shop and waited for them to bring my bike down. The owner had his buddy drive him up in a Can Am, unload my gear into the Can Am, and he rode it down. They finally showed and he was laughing. “That’s a HEAVY bike! Even WITHOUT all those bags it was not easy to control!”. He was a funny guy who loved riding motorcycles…but SMALLER ones.
With my bike down off the mountain, I could breathe a little easier.
As the timing turns out, we were at the tail end of our second leg of our journey and Joe and I were supposed to meet up with a group that was coming in to do some Wyoming riding…and their trailer was parked at the Cody, Wyoming airport, about 4 hours north.
After speaking with AAA, the way I saw it, I could pay them thousands to tow myself and my bike 4 hours north to meet the trailer and drop it off…or I could stuff my throbbing injured leg into my boot and ride it to meet the trailer.
To play it safe and do the ‘reasonable’ thing was to let AAA take me and the bike.
So, I made the decision that any reasonable man would do in this situation…I wanted to finish this ride, this adventure, on my terms.
So I stuffed my black and blue foot into the boot, leaving between TORRENTIAL rain storms, and headed out of Ouray down into the desert on a highway where a massive weather front chased me for the next 3 hours with high winds and temps that would be 90 one minute, 50 the next.
It was a somber ride, but I made it to the Cody, Wyoming airport, handed off my bike, and caught a flight home.
Hurting and limping (literally) home from my mountaintop (crash) experience (literally) I got back to my house and life. I came off of my adventure high to home, submerged in a numbing depression. The failed extended adventure/sabbatical, the damaged body, and now home to face the loss of a serious relationship that ended a couple months before leaving.
Several months later, my leg and heart were still both slow in healing.
4 months later I woke at 2:30 in the morning with some thoughts rolling around my head that would not stop and I decided to pay attention to them.
I kept coming back to the ‘weight’ I was carrying and the brand new tire that I had not changed. Changing my tire would have made a big difference, but what really hit home was the extra things I carried.
1 brand new spare tire: 15 pounds
2 extra super heavy tire tubes: 6 pounds
A heavy 3 man tent. The additional weight of about 5 pounds
1 full gallon of water (along with a Nalgene) : 7.5 pounds
1 quart of oil: almost 2 pounds
Heavy duty Klim jacket: 6 pounds
Teak camping table: 2 pounds
Full tanks of gas: additional 2-3 gallons at 6 lbs per gallon…potentially 12-18 lbs
The extra things I carried…I estimate just shy of 50 lbs ON THE LIGHT side of the extra weight.
Joe and i had spent a significant amount of time going over potential gear, parts, and camping supplies with the possibility of being out there a month. I had packed, eliminated gear, re-packed and packed again with regards to SPACE.
The bikes and saddle bags we carry have ‘lots’ of space. I could pack a lot of gear and even had some ‘luxury’ items like a small table, compact cot, and extra cooking fuel. When I was on smooth level road, whether asphalt or packed gravel, weight is not a concern. I’ve got a big strong bike, the extra weight is negligible…as long as the road isn’t difficult.
But
When it came to the extreme scenario…the extra weight that I carried is the difference between me controlling the bike… and gravity controlling the bike.
On this particular mountain pass, coming down, I had a gravity problem that my level of skill could not fix.
I had roughly a 500 pound motorcycle with about 70 pounds of gear and 225 pounds of me. The embankment with loose rocks and gravity trumped my ability to control it.
I had packed for ‘space’ and not ‘weight’ and it made all the difference.
In the dark hours of that morning, working through the extra weight, God also spoke to me about the relationship that had ended.
When our relationship was on level ground…I didn’t worry about the extra weight that we carried. It was insignificant to both of us. But when the road became an off level off-road trail…that extra weight made things tricky…but with a little extra effort and skill, we could keep things righted…most of the time.
But on my adventure trip, just like in relationships, when the conditions became extreme…the ‘extra weight’ was too much.
The things we carried were ego and expectations
The things we carried for ‘comfort’ or ‘control’
The things we carried from our childhood
The wounds from past relationships
We can and do carry weight for others…but the extra weight in those critical moments where self awareness is absolutely essential because it’s the difference between ‘make’ and ‘break’.
The fractured fibula did not heal properly and I had surgery a few weeks ago where the surgeon re-scars the fracture and then stabilizes the break with a plate and screws. Weeks following the surgery, new X-rays showed the bone is finally healing properly this time.
The heart is a little trickier…there are no plates and screws…only time, love, and acceptance…forgiveness.
I can say now, many months later…our hearts found some healing by unpacking and talking through some of our hurts…coming to peace with the pieces, working through what happens next.
You can carry a LOT of things when the road is easy…but the road to adventure life are not always easy, not always straight, not always predictable. Whether it’s life or trail, the things you carry can be life and death.
Leave behind luxury, egos, and jettison the extra weight when the trail gets tough.
Check your maps but correct for weather, attitude, and altitude.
…make sure the road down the easy side is open before you start up the hard side.