Riding a Bicycle up Hoosier Pass in the Rockies Changed My Life

A lesson in perseverance as the climb up that mountain seemed almost impossible.

In 2010, a year after my mother’s death, I rode my bike from Wichita, Kansas to Seattle, Washington. My mother had ridden a similar ride in the 1970s and it was a way to honor her. It gave me time to reflect upon her life and death.

She was an amazing woman and taught me well.

First, I am not, nor have I ever been particularly athletic. At the time of this bike ride in 2010, I was an average rider at best. I was inexperienced and had never done any cross-country touring.

I took off from Kansas on my bike and after a week of battling the winds and monotonous flatlands, I was ready to give up.

At first, I did about 60 miles a day and each day took its toll on me.

As I crossed the desert-like plains of Colorado, I almost gave up as I watched the Rocky Mountains get larger and larger as I closed in on them.

It did not seem possible to ride my bike up those steep mountains. Perhaps, I would reach the foothills and call that good. These were my thoughts as I pedaled into the never-ending wind.

If I just rode to the foothills, I would not make my Seattle destination, but riding across Kansas and half of Colorado was an accomplishment, I told myself as I rode.

But still, I remember thinking, I had told everyone I was riding to Seattle. Quitting now would mean going back home with my tail between my legs.

I wrestled with these thoughts as I rode the long stretches of highway.

Along the way, I met two other bicyclists who were going in the same direction. That gave me a boost. It was often easier riding with others.

It let me know that it wasn’t just me that was struggling. They, too, were having a difficult time with the wind. I was actually faster than one of the riders.

This new confidence helped me get to the foothills of the Rockies just outside of Pueblo, Colorado.

The next day, we road to Cañon City. One of the riders that had joined me split off and went in a different direction. That left me with only one riding companion who rode with me to Fairplay, Colorado in the Rocky Mountains.

The ride to Fairplay was straight up the Rockies. It was the toughest riding that I had ever done up to that point.

I didn’t know if I could go on.

We had a major mountain pass in front of us, Hoosier Pass. At an altitude of 11,539 feet, it would be the highest elevation I would reach during my trek to Seattle.

Getting up and over that pass would certainly be tough and a very a long day.

The night before we were to reach Hoosier Pass, my riding companion announced that he was through. It was just too tough for him. He arranged a ride down to Denver and would fly home from there.

“You are welcome to join me to Denver. I have a van coming to pick me up in the morning. From there you can take the bus back to Kansas,” my riding companion offered.

“Perhaps,” I told him, “Let me think about it.”

As I sat in my motel room that night, I thought about how tough the ride had become. Getting over Hoosier Pass would be almost impossible.

I wasn’t sure I could go on.

I hated quitting, but I saw no way to continue. I contacted my friend and told him I would, indeed, take the ride to Denver.

I woke up the next day to a knock on my motel room door. It was my riding companion.

“The van is leaving in one hour,” he told me.

“Okay, I will be ready by then,”

I was already packed and ready to go. As I sat there and stared at my loaded bike, I thought about how hard it had been getting this far.

I was proud of what I had accomplished so far, but Hoosier Pass was just too much, I rationalized.

But how did I know? I asked myself. I hadn’t even tried it yet. Getting this far seemed impossible, but here I was.

After an hour, I heard a honk in the motel parking lot. I opened the door, and the van was there. My companion was loading his bike into the van.

I wheeled my bike out the door towards the van.

When I got there, I looked at the van, I looked at my friend, and I looked down the road towards the pass.

I made a quick decision.

“You know,” I told my friend, “I am going to do this. Go on without me.”

I shook his hand and he wished me luck.

Just like that, I got on my bike and started pedaling down the road.

The six-mile ride from Fairplay to Alma, Colorado was a gentle climb. The only brutal part was the hill right outside of Fairplay. But I felt pretty good, and my confidence was growing.

There was more climbing out of Alma, but it was doable. About four miles from the summit, it got really hard.

I had no choice but to put the bike in the easiest gear and pedal has hard as I could.

That great effort got me up to about four miles per hour, and I wondered if it would be easier just to walk.

Of course, with the bike fully loaded, pushing the bike up this mountain would be hell. So, I just continued to pedal and slowly climbed.

Four miles. That’s all I needed to go, I told myself. Then, it would be all downhill.

In the easiest gear, I spun my pedals and slowly inched up the mountain.

After a while, I glanced at the odometer and was certain it was broken. Surely, I had gone more than ½ mile!

I continued and finally a mile passed. I stopped and took some pictures, got a drink of water, and got back on the bike.

Fifteen minutes later, another mile inched by. Halfway done.

I took some more pictures, drank some more water, and contemplated throwing my bike over the edge of the mountain.

Instead, I got back on and slowly continued my trek up the mountain.

As I rode, I approached a work truck up ahead. The crew was painting the very white line on the side of the road that I was following so slowly.

As I passed a worker at three and a half miles per hour, he joked, “Slow down!”

I could only grunt. I was literally going slow enough to watch the paint dry as I climb the mountain.

Finally, three miles down and one mile to go. I started to think I was going to make it.

The last mile actually seemed less steep and finally, I was on top of Hoosier Pass, the highest elevation the tour would reach.

I had now ridden my bicycle from Wichita, Kansas to the top of the Rocky Mountains and I was a little proud!

The ride down to Breckenridge was precarious but nice. It was all downhill. As I navigated the switch-backs, I used my breaks sparingly as to not overheat them or damage the tires.

Also, I had no desire to kill my much-earned momentum that I had gained by climbing the mountain. I felt that I truly deserved the amazing downhill ride.

I enjoyed a nice, pleasant ride into Kremmling, Colorado. The scenery was beautiful.

That night as I looked at my maps and planned the rest of my journey, I was so glad I hadn’t given up. I now had the confidence to carry on with the bike ride.

I learned something about myself that day that I have kept with me every day since.

I learned the lesson of perseverance and not quitting just because something is tough. I learned that no matter how hard something seems at a given moment, eventually, it will be over and behind me.

This attitude has gotten me through a lot of tough times. It is amazing what you can learn from the seat of a bicycle going up a steep mountain pass.

I did make it to Seattle on the back of that bike and would eventually ride my bike across the entire country.

You can read about those rides in the links below: