Fun Hurts!

Picture from a training ride up there

This one is somewhat tough to write about. The race itself on my part was so immaculate that it now feels like there’s no story in it. However, there was one that defined the race plan and helped with its execution.

No wrong turns have been made (which happens to me quite regularly, with Pony Xpress being a good example). The farthest point of the out-and-back course is 30 minutes away from my house, so I know these roads like the back of my hand. As it turned out, the organizers had messed up the race route they posted online, but even that didn’t derail me, since I wasn’t even looking at the map.

The weather, as sketchy and unreliable as it looked on the radar, was as perfect as it gets for a bike race. All day in the 60s (15-20 Celsius), no sun, no precipitation, no nothing. Like clean air — something you don’t even notice or think about, unless it deviates from perfection. And if that wasn’t enough, as we climbed up to 2879m (9445 feet), thick clouds covered the valleys below us, eliminating any potential visual distractions. “Phenomenal views,” promised to us by the race organizers, were not delivered in 2025, along with announced but nonexistent chip timing, single-track sections, or a live music after-party. Terrible food provider could've been a cherry on this amateur-baked cake, but there was a bit more to it.

At the end of the day, it’s a race, not an all-inclusive cycling adventure for tourists. And the most critical part of it, if not the only one, is the results. Well, race promoters aren’t very good at that either. There is no live results link, and no printed sheet that everyone can freely access. I’ve found my official time and place later that night… in someone else’s Strava, because the guy found a way to take a sneak peek at the paper and posted a picture of it.

This was my second attempt at this race. The registration price went up from $25 in 2022 to $85 in 2025; however, the (dis)organization of the race hasn’t changed a bit. And I fully anticipated that to be the case. Then why did I even sign up?

The why

I named this ride on Strava “Redemption City, CO,” and there’s a little story behind that title. Rampart Rager 2022 was my first-ever gravel race. I didn’t even have a gravel bike back then, so I rode my full-suspension XC. And as much as a disadvantage that bike was on such a course, it was a marginal loss compared to my relatively poor fitness. Well, everyone gotta start somewhere, you might say. And a local, cheap, low-key event should be a perfect place to get your feet wet, you’d think. And so did I. But there’s a thing about locals in my area — most of them are wild beasts. I vividly remember the start of that race. We were cruising through the Garden of the Gods in a group of about 30 riders, and the promoter shouted, “Game on”. In a matter of a few seconds, everyone disappeared around the very next turn, leaving me, if not ashamed, then at least humbled. Not that in any of my wildest dreams I saw myself winning this thing (or any other thing for that matter), but I didn’t expect to be dead fucking last straight out of the gate either. That pretty much defined the rest of the day for me. I leapfrogged with one or two other riders who were taking extended breaks at the aid stations, but then they would catch and pass me later.

By the time I crossed the finish line, the lady who was filling the result sheet (with a stopwatch and a pen, nonetheless) didn’t even care that I came through. I asked her to put me in, but we shouldn’t have bothered. The 2022 results were lost in oblivion, and there’s no publicly available proof of my horrible performance that year.

In 2025, I was ready to prove to myself that I had come a long way. I look back at the Firecracker 50 (a report on which is now almost two months due, and I feel bad about that), and I firmly believe that a lack of one good reason or goal like that there in Breckenridge is what tipped the scales from having a properly hard day to a miserable one. Here, on the other hand, I was fully committed to pushing hard and suffering as much as it becomes necessary. Letting off the gas wasn't even an option.

Rollout

The neutral rollout is a full loop on the paved roads of Garden of the Gods. It’s a great warmup, and I appreciate that it’s there. I was at the front of the pack for my own safety, and at some point, our group of 50+ riders was going through a right-hand turn on this single-lane road, moving fairly quickly due to the slight descent. Signs along the road clearly indicate “no stopping”, but you wouldn’t think it would prevent a random SUV from standing in the middle of the lane, admiring a deer in the bushes. It’s an early Sunday morning, and the roads are empty. I can understand that. Would that be so hard for the promoters to send a leading moto for the first 15 minutes of the race, until we get out of one of the busiest places in the entire Colorado Springs? Again, no big deal, but it kinda adds up.

Section 1/3: The Climb

The start of this race is an 18.34 km (11.4 mi) long, steady climb with a grade of around 5-6%, featuring a total elevation gain of 970 m (3,180 ft). On a race day, it took me 1 hour and 17 minutes to complete it. For reference, three years ago, my time was 1 hour and 43 minutes. And add to that the fact that this time I wasn’t falling apart after the summit, but instead kept pushing hard for three more hours.

Pacing was simple. I was planning to sit right under my threshold heart rate for the whole length of the climb. Looking at the numbers now, I think I could have pushed myself 3-4 beats per minute higher, but with a 1-by drivetrain, it’s easier said than done. You either go one cog up and grind a lot harder, or you stay where you are and ramp up your cadence above what’s comfortable for you on the climb. Neither is easy, and both might blow you up. This thought brings me back to the start of the race, when a friend asked me about my pacing strategy. My response was sincere, but perhaps not 100% precise: “Go hard from the start. If I blow up, I blow up. I don’t give a fuck.” It accurately reflected my mood, but, of course, I know my limits. Here’s a thing about the limits, though: they are not exactly constant. One day, you stay at your threshold, and as long as you don’t cross it, you’re golden. The next day, you get there and you keep it for a few minutes, but then the legs fall off. Fortunately, this time it was the former.

Fueling-wise I had a bottle of water and a gel flask with 150g of carbs to get me over the top.

Section 2/3: The Rolls

If you ask anyone who rode this course, in a race or not, to describe it in one word, the word will always be washboards. In some places, they are truly atrocious. But again, nothing I wasn’t prepared for. Not that there’s a lot you can do about them, but I certainly thought it through and decided to race with a hydration pack. Definitely outsmarted my friend Brian on this one, who’s got one of his bidons ejected into the thin air of the Colorado high country.

Other than that, it’s pretty simple. Push, push, push. With so many ups and downs, heart rate becomes largely ineffective. So it’s all a mental game now. Go as hard as you think you can, but once in a while, try to pedal even harder than that. Once or twice, I felt like I was going to puke, which I took as an indicator of a proper effort.

This section ends with a climb where you’d think it makes sense just to give it all, leaving nothing behind, because it’s all downhill afterwards. And I thought of sprinting to the top, but I was legitimately spent. Made a note to myself that if I feel that way, then perhaps I did everything right over the past 3 hours and 45 minutes.

Section 3/3: The Descent

30 minutes of wrist-thrashing and back-killing torture. Those who possess the necessary skills to thrive here truly enjoy it. To me, it’s like a dark tunnel that I know I must get to the other side of and be done with it. In TdF they sometimes switch mid-ride from a TT contraption to a road bike. Wish I could quickly hop on my dually at the top of that segment and send the hell out of it. But it is what it is, and I don’t have much more to say about it.

Final thoughts

I achieved what I came for, and I don’t see myself going back to it. There are better ways to spend your day, especially if you have $85 to spare. Which sounds a bit rough, if not mean. But it's always better to underpromise and overdeliver than the other way around. And I can easily afford to pay the modern-day overinflated registration prices. But I don't like the feeling of being full-on scammed, that's it.

Fun fact. I went full on with lightness and aerodynamics: new Rule 28 aero-socks and aero-gloves, brand-new shoes that saved me 50g per pair, a number plate cut to the minimum and secured on a foldable mount, and no unnecessary equipment (i.e., no tube). Finished 17th. Whether it’s a curse or a blessing, it’s certainly not a coincidence. Praised be our prophet DJ. Haha.