Everyone around here runs up Green mountain. It's like other people read the morning paper, but instead people in Boulder run up a 2500' ascent. Crazy!
I had been to Green's summit maybe 5 times in the last 8 years I've lived in Colorado. All via the west ridge from the Flagstaff road. Today I wanted to go up the front.
I had no desire to DESCEND down the front, however. And I couldn't get a ride down from the west ridge TH, so I packed up my bike and drove up Flagstaff Rd. I found a nice clump of trees and hid my bike in there, locking it to one of the pines. Then drove back down to Chautauqua.
At 11:15am, amidst about 10,000 people, I started up the Baseline Trail
(which itself took me a little while to locate). I started my stopwatch
at the sign, just for laughs.
The Baseline trail seems to have about 20 variations, social trails,
old vehicle roads, etc. I really wanted to follow the "official" trail
used by the real runners, so whenever I found myself on something other
than what seemed right, I turned around.
This happened twice, so I lost a little time, but nothing much. I finally
decided that one of the "middle-ish" paths seemed to most resemble a trail,
even though it too started turning into a two-wheeled-looking thing as
it approached the Gregory Canyon area.
I wasn't running at all. I hadn't planned to. I just wanted to learn
this route since I'd never been up it, and I was planning to keep my HR
at 80-90% once the climbing started (145-163bpm for me).
I took the first sharp-left at a sign-post and it immediately got steep.
Up we go! I had no idea where on Green Mtn the trails would lead, but
I was surprised to be going toward the First Flatiron since I didn't
think it possible to get through that way. But I'm a Boulder noob,
what do I know?
Eventually I learned that I was on the "Bluebaird Trail" and that didn't
sound right. Bill W had always said "Baseline, Amphitheater, Something
Starting with an S, then Greenman". I hoped that this Bluebaird thing
would cross back over to one of those in the list above, since these
trails around Chautauqua all seem to intersect each other 400 times.
Eventually I came to the Chautauqua trail and there were no signs
for Green Mtn. In fact, it seems I was headed for Royal Arch. Gah!
I asked someone, and he said I needed to go all the way back down. So
I did.
I don't recall the time, but I noted the elevation... then I went back
down 450 ft lower to regain the point where I made my error. It was an
extra mile of travel as well.
Continuing west a bit more I found the Amphitheater trail and started
up. OMG! It was so so steep. My legs were still fresh, but this trail
punished them immediately and relentlessly. I was trying to push semi-hard
to keep my HR rate up, but my quads were already screaming. I pushed down
hard on my knees and powered up, passing 10 people or so as I ascended
up toward the amphitheater.
As I passed the amphitheater, I noticed a bunch of people rockclimbing
there. I had no idea there was a rockclimbing area up here, and the routes
looked fairly moderate and top-ropeable. I wonder if my sons could get up
them? I can't find any description of the routes on the web.
By the time I hit the junction with the Saddle Rock Trail, I'm feeling down:
this is supposedly 1/3 of the way up and I'm already tired. My watch reads
51mins.... sigh.
Here was my thinking:
Flagstaff -- 1300vert, 1.6mi, FKT ~16min
Green Mtn -- 2500vert, 2.8mi, FKT ~28min
So it looks like Green is about Flagstaff x 2, right? Even in my ridiculously
poor shape I can do Flagstaff in about 35mins right now. So I expected about
1:10 on Green. And here I was at nearly an hour, only a third of the way
up (I had forgotten about my wrong turn lower down).
Resigned to a longer-than-planned hike, I gave up on the "no stopping"
rule and sat down to eat some GORP and stretch a little. I resumed at 1:02
on my stopwatch.
The next miles to Greenman went ok, still holding about 155bpm on avg, I
got there about 1:22 on my watch. Then I was pleased to see some runnable
level and even downhill on the Greenman trail, which I took advantage of
with jog that resembled a waddle more than anything else.
I hit the top (the true top!) at 1:41 on the watch. Downed the Odwalla
protein monster I had carried up in my Camelbak along with more Gorp.
The skies were crackling with lightning and no one else was around. After
10mins on the summit, I was wondering where the people I had passed were...
was it too dangerous up there?
Finally an elderly (and beautiful) woman came up the west ridge holding
two rocks, one in each hand. Without a word she set the rocks down next
to me. I said, "I've always wondered how all these rocks get up here."
She responded, "well, someone has to carry them up."
She apparently does the west ridge for fitness, even in winter. She
looked very fit and strong.
As I headed down the west ridge toward my stashed bike 1.4mi away, I saw
another guy coming up: he was running easily, had no shirt and wore a HR
monitor. He wasn't breathing hard. He had short jet-black hair and a
3-day beard, looked very fit, about 5'8" and 140 lbs. I was too shy to
ask if he was a BTR guy.
It was 1:15pm now, and a few others were heading up the west ridge, all
walking. I had planned to run down this trail, but my quads were so shot
and my knees were aching enough that I waited until the steep section
was done. Then I ran the rolling sections at an easy pace, feeling
pretty tired. There are a couple of uphills to negotiate, and those hurt.
In fact, I walked most of them.
It was just after 1:30pm as I grabbed my bike, putting the front wheel
on, and testing the brakes for the long descent down Flagstaff road. I
hadn't thought about it beforehand, but with the chilly temps and my
sweat-drenched state, it was going to be a cold ride down. I didn't bring
any extra clothing: just the long-sleeved poly shirt, cotton shorts,
cotton socks, and running shoes I was wearing.
Almost immediately it started to rain. Slowly at first, then harder.
I hadn't ridden a bike on a hill in about 8 years, and my handling skills
and confidence were both low. The hairpin turns and steep inclines kept
me from even blinking. I wished for tires with tread left on them.
My brakes seemed sluggish, and only after a while did I realize that
they weren't overheating, but that the rims of my wheels were wet and
the brakes were slipping. I slowed down as the rain turned into a
torrential downpour. The sleeves of my shirt hung loosely from my
elbows and my shorts and socks were drenched to the point where I knew
I could wring a liter of water from them once I stopped.
I started talking to myself: I wanted to go faster to get it over with,
but I knew I wasn't going to freeze to death if I just went slow and
made not-crashing my main priority. I had no idea how fast I could take
the turns without slipping out: my tires weren't too great, the road was
now a rivulet, and visibility was going down. I looked up at Green Mtn
and I could no longer see the summit, shrouded by a black cloud now.
The worst moment was just after the Flagstaff Mountain summit when I swung
out left to make a big right and another cyclist screamed at me because
I had veered into his line as he was trying to pass me. I had no idea
he was even there. The sound of the rain was so loud I could hear nothing else.
Back at the car, I didn't even load my bike: just leaned it against
the bumper and got in to try and warm up in front of the heater.
Thirty minutes later I was back in Superior and it wasn't even raining.
I must have looked odd coming out of my car soaking wet, hair drenched,
backpack leaking water. Sandra just shook her head.
An hour later I was at Lakeshore Athletic Club, sitting in the Jacuzzi
with jets spraying my knees and hips. They'll probably hurt tomorrow
anyway.
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