2023 Copper Triangle – aka Redemption of the Cycling Zambo

• Route: The 2023 Copper Triangle
• Distance: 79.62 Miles
• Vertical Gain: 6,102 feet
• Riders: Zambo, Brian Miller, Josh Schmidt, 1,800+ others, and at least a half dozen dudes on e-bikes
• Date: 8/5/2023
• Strava Track: https://www.strava.com/activities/9589629990

The full map of the 2023 Copper Triangle (click for complete Strava track)

And the Copper Triangle elevation profile. (Click to enlarge)

One consistent thing about my biking ‘career’ is that it has almost always felt like a massive struggle. Contrary to most other sports (particularly those involving mountains and/or endurance), biking has never really felt natural.

Or easy.

Or consistently enjoyable.

Or that I was ever any good at it.

Over the past 20+ years I’ve discovered all kinds of novel ways to realize that me and biking simply aren’t an instinctive fit. I mean, just the inherent challenges of going for the a casual ride are seemingly endless:

First you have to get ready to go, which takes about 10x longer than running for some reason. Mainly because you have to fill waters, gather snacks, put on bike shoes, find your helmet, air up your tires, put on bike shorts and your jersey, lotion your grundle, and roll out the door only to realize you forgot sunscreen and goddamnit why is it so breezy in every single cardinal direction today?!?!

Once you finally hit the pavement a mechanical issue always seems at close hand, or you start to nerd rage at that new squeaking sound coming from god-knows-where in spite of the fact that your bike just had a tune up. Next, an angry white 30-something male in a brodozer who hates bikes is trying to roll coal at you as you cruise down the suburban boulevard. Or a 20-something female driver who is staring down at TikToks nearly runs you off the road.

Once you hit a groove and feel like you’re really going aero, a baby boomer who looks like he couldn’t jog down the street and back without going into cardiac arrest will go flying by you uphill on his $13,000+ Cervelo S5. Then, if you’re lucky, 2-4 hours later you avoided the rain, headwinds, hail, sunburns, apocalyptic mud, and homicidal drivers only to return home to a family who is annoyed at how long you’ve been gone and is immediately ready for you to fully re-engage, in spite of your wounded pride, copious salt streaks, and overly chafed bonch.

Suffice it to say, cycling don’t come easy….

As was observantly noted by my loving wife, who had this waiting for me after one particularly challenging morning of me trying to get out the door to ride. She gets it.

But in spite of all that, I actually really do love going for a spin.

This year I decided to dial back the running & trail racing, buy a proper road bike, and give cycling an honest go. I thought if I truly dedicated myself the sport, maybe it would eventually all start to click. I’m pleased to say that is (mostly) true, as evidenced by a very successful 2023 Copper Triangle. But it sure wasn’t easy to get there. I spent the better part of the year trying to figure out bikes, with way more than my fair share of struggles, failures, and frustrations along the way.

And so, this trip report is just a bit about that journey, the cycling lessons I learned, and how the 2023 Copper Triangle was the symbolic, positive redemption for a whole lot of me having horrible karma whilst on two wheels.

Section #1: Copper Mountain to Freemont Pass

Aka: The importance of purchasing an ungodly amount of expensive gear just to be able to enjoy this sport.

At 6:30 in the morning Josh, Brian and I found ourselves in the familiar Alpine Lot at Copper Mountain. Although we had all done this ride together a full year ago, it felt like it had been a matter of a few mere months. Funny how life speeds up like that.

Anyway, we made some final tire pressure adjustments (a big bummer for Brian – more on that later), rubbed our sensitive bits with chamois cream (aka grundle butter, aka 1,000 fairies gently blowing on you all day), and gathered our final pieces of gear together. We joined the herd on the excellent new bike path which runs south out of Copper Mountain. Avoiding the highway was a nice opening treat.

The main takeaway from this section is that is was cold. Really cold. Josh saw 33 degrees on his bike computer. I’m not convinced that was accurate, but I’d say high 30’s was certainly in play. None of us could feel our fingers or toes. Thankfully, it was a big climb right out of the gate. The first 11 miles gained some 1,500 feet. The best way to stay warm was to pedal hard towards the sun, which was mercifully breaking over the horizon about two thirds of the way into this section.

Josh leading the cranks into the sun as Mt. Bartlett looks on in the early morning.

Josh was super excited to finally get into the sun. (Sorry, but not sorry, for sharing this photo publicly.) 😉

There – much more complimentary. Josh and I cruising along past the Clinton Gulch Reservoir – site of many a Colorado family Christmas card.

One positive difference from last year was that I had arm warmers, which really helped. A curious piece of cycling gear that only really made sense to me this year. For a long time I though it was absurd to buy sleeves separate from an actual shirt. I still sort of think that, but for whatever reason, having these to stay warm and then being able to remove them finally started making sense to me lately.

Actually, the arm warmers serve as a nice symbol to represent most cycling gear. All of it is sort of a slightly bastardized version of regular things, yet still somehow makes sense. You’ll need: gloves, but there are holes in them. Athletic shorts, but they need to have awkward suspenders attached. Shoes, but they are guaranteed to keep your feet cold. A shirt, but the pockets are on your back. Sleeves, but without a shirt. And so on and so forth.

But the enjoyment of this year came from the fact that I had finally figured out the inherent value of all these slightly ridiculous, yet incredibly practical, cycling gear nuances. They might all be virtually useless for literally any other activity, but on a bike, each somehow makes sense in its own little way.

These were my reflections as I hoofed it past many other riders on the beautiful ride up to Tennessee Pass. I was enjoying myself greatly, in no small thanks to my gear that was all working perfectly.

Milling about at the first aid station atop Freemont Pass. I must say, the aid stations this year were as top notch as they come. Fully loaded with as many snacks and energy drinks as were required by the thousands of riders who descended upon them throughout out the day. The volunteering and logistics of the event were excellent all day long. A huge thank you to anyone and everyone who helped pull it all together.

Lord Helmut himself in his semi-natural element. We both looked quite a bit more like real cyclists this year thanks to our hefty gear investments over the past 12 months.

Section #2: Freemont Pass to Tennessee Pass

Aka: The importance of owning a good road bike (that actually fits).

I’m convinced that pushing off of the top of Freemont Pass is about as fun as you can have on a bike. The initial mile descent is smooth, steep, full of great views, and has that famous, hair raising turn near the top. Then it’s all downhill to Leadville. The Strava segment for this stretch is named ‘Funking Haulin’ and they ain’t kiddin’.

All three of us waited for the requisite window of passing cars and minimal fellow riders before tearing off the top. I stopped looking at my speed past 35, but my data tells me we were comfortably over 50 mph through here – the fastest speeds of the day.

After passing the initial steep descent, Josh, myself and another rider put together an impromptu pace line for the next 8 miles. One of us would work to the front, pedal furiously for a few minutes downhill, then offer a quick hand wave to get the next man up. We pretty much went all out, passing dozens of others riders along the way. It was hard work but incredibly gratifying to see the combo of fast bike + aero + teamwork paying off with such high speeds.

As we finally hit the stretch of uphill into Leadville, Josh and I pulled off to wait for Brian who had fallen back a bit. He caught up shortly, but his bike simply wasn’t able to keep up with our pace on the downhill. Part of the reason for that is because Josh and I were both sporting new, very snappy Canyon road bikes. But much more so, we determined later that we had erroneously let too much air out of Brian’s tires. He did this stretch last year much quicker on the exact same bike. So, it had to be the softer tires slowing him down. Which was a real bummer.

Regardless, the few minutes waiting for him got me thinking about the importance of a good bike. I’ve never been one to enjoy any sport that so blatantly rewards you for spending more money. However, once I finally accepted that fact and ponied up for a nice bike, it was pretty wild to see the difference it makes. I had recently returned my Domane SL 5 after a near biblical-level of ongoing issues with the seat post. My day on the CT was the second ride with my new Canyon CF SL. And I was loving it. The bike was easily the fastest, snappiest, lightest, and most fun road bike I had ever been on. It made reaching speeds on climbs, flats, and downhills attainable that had once been just a dream.

I spent the better part of 7 months getting jerked around on a series of malfunctioning Trek Domanes. Finally I had to just give up and I broke up with Trek entirely. Although the bike shop was great, the bike itself just never performed like it needed to. I lost all faith in it. Riding hundreds of miles through the Rockies on a seat post that won’t stay up will do that to ya.

My new Canyon CF SL Disc, on the other hand, was a dream. Everything you’d expect from the fine tradition of other German, panzer-level outdoor gear companies (e,g, Deuter and Kuhl). So far so good.

Past Leadville we hit the wide open stretch on the way to Tennessee Pass. This is always an idyllic few miles to pedal through.

Mt Massive looks on.

Traffic was surprisingly peaceful (for me, anyway) all morning. This continued throughout the day. I was thankful for no incidents and few cars to hassle with. Apparently there were issues with a raging Dodge Ram (go figure) a few miles behind, but we luckily avoided any nonsense.

We quickly hit the medium climb up to Tennessee Pass. This might have been the most enjoyable effort of the whole day for me. Josh and Brian were hanging back chatting. I was feeling good, so I decided to push it. I wanted to see what the bike could do.

The results were pretty amazing. I felt like I was able to really attack the climb. Normally it feels like the bike is fighting me on such ascents, but not with the Canyon. Instead of holding me back, the bike felt like a race car just itching to be taken out for speed. I’m sure it was still a mediocre ascent time by elite standards. But judging by the dozens of fellow riders I passed on the way up, it was a solid effort. I had never, ever been able to pass so many people on a bike before. It really highlighted the importance of a quality machine.

Hanging out at the second aid station, which is in the Ski Cooper parking lot. We has skipped this aid last year, thanks in no small part to the extra hill it takes to get there. Not this year, however, as a bike that’s built to climb makes easy work of such things. I was glad to check it out.

Section #3: Tennessee Pass to Minturn

Aka: The importance of pretending to be Wout van Aert.

The next section was essentially a long, fast downhill into Eagle County, with one medium climb along the way. Seeing as it’s almost all downhill, this stretch was a lot of fun. Albeit with its fair share of hair raising moments. The road quality was pretty suspect throughout. Lots of orange marked zones and plentiful sharp turns. So, although you can certainly fly on parts of these downhills, I found myself consistently keeping my speed somewhat in check for fear of hitting some loose dirt, potholes, and/or ribbed hairpin turns.

Departing Tennessee Pass on our way to the long downhill into Vail. (photo by Brian)

A pretty typical roadside scene for this section. (photo by Brian)

Looking down towards Minturn.

Curiously, ripping down these turns was often an isolated affair. In spite of so many other riders being out there, for some reason this section really stretched everyone out. It was probably thanks to the variable speeds each rider had to choose on the rough roads.

Regardless, the semi-solitude and make-your-own adventure made me feel like one of those Tour de France guys who goes on the attack and has to pedal for dear life to try to hold off the Peloton. I recently watched Netflix’s excellent new documentary about the tour and that’s essentially the gist of at least part of every episode. I’m not nearly as skilled, technical, or suicidal as those guys, but it was still fun to rip along as aggressively as I felt comfortable.

Just call me Wout van Zambo.

Which would make Josh, who took off like a mad man up the big hill right after this photo, Pogačar.

Looking down at the Eagle River. This is always a very nice moment along the route.

An excellent shot looking back at that beautiful bridge. (photo by Brian)

Perhaps my most tour-like moment came on the final turn before the long straight into Minturn. It was one of those sharp corners with ribbed asphalt. I’ve nearly eaten it one too many times on similar corners, so I opted to take it nice and slow. Not so for the dude next to me though. He inexplicably chose right at the turn to try to pass. When I showed zero signs of yielding (mostly for the sake of self-preservation), he whipped to the side and gave me a look that screamed, “Hey – I’m a boomer on an e-bike! Make way you poor, foolish peasant on your self-powered ancient machine. I have technology and the arrogance of an entire generation on my side! Yield now or I’ll destroy the planet ever harder!”

Suffice it to say, I threw the most disgusted look I could muster back at him. Once we got out of the turn I summoned the full force of a million exasperated millennials and left him reeling behind.

Wout van Zambo indeed.

This year’s third aid station in Minturn was a much happier affair than last, when poor Matt had an unrepairable sidewall blowout here.

Section #4: Grinding Through Vail

Aka: The importance of dodging motorized vehicles and dogs on leashes.

Pedaling through the town of Minturn was nice. They were having a big outdoor festival and gathering that looked like a lot of fun. It was a beautiful day too. Comfortable temps, a light breeze, and some clouds to keep the sun off at times. I haven’t spent much time in Minturn, but on a day like that one, it sure looked like a nice place to be.

Josh and I taking in the surprisingly idyllic scenes from downtown Minturn. (photo by Brian)

Vail, on the other hand, was a real slog (as expected). It was basically just a long, false flat all the way from the turn at I-70 up to the aid station at the bottom of Vail Pass. Luckily I was experienced enough to be ready for it this year. We slowed things down a bit through town, being very careful to dodge rogue Audis and gaping pedestrians along the way.

One specific fear I have developed in cycling is that of dogs on long leashes. I’m not sure if anyone else has this phobia, but getting my front tire clotheslined by some random pooch’s leash has rapidly become one of my greatest fears. Thankfully, there no such incidents for our group on this day, but there were still enough dogs around to keep me on my toes.

Brian pedaling away as the magnificent Grand Traverse looks on. All of my dog fears were quite unfounded today. There were a lot of very supportive fans along the route in Vail. The encouragement was very appreciated.

Section #5: Vail Pass to Copper Mountain

Aka: The importance of remembering that cycling is, in spite of all the sufferings, actually quite fun.

We stopped at the fourth aid station to gear up for Vail Pass. As Josh likes to remark, the ride just doesn’t feel like it’s 60+ miles to this point. Well, I’ve discovered that’s because a whole lot of uphill climbing still awaits. We were about to earn the feeling back in a big way.

Fueled up and ready to tackle Vail Pass. All smiles, for now…

I made my mind up that I really wanted to push Vail Pass this year. I’m proud of how it went. Much of it is a blur; just some vague memories of staring down at my front wheel, focusing on just turning over one stroke after another.

I guess a few specific things I remember are:

1. Somehow, the construction is still going on. And apparently it will be for the next TWO years. The whole project is slated to cost $250,000,000 (that’s not a typo). What’s that get you? Well, as best I can tell, not much more than a new runaway truck ramp, some bridges, a new lane, and a new bike path. Keep in mind this is only part of a $700,000,000 (also not a typo) project on Vail Pass. Anyone who needs any convincing about scandalous corporate spending and government waste need look no further than our own backyard…
2. $250 mil doesn’t make a bike path any easier. Quite the opposite, in fact. We learned that the re-routing has two new section where you go down a bit before ascending back up to the level of the highway. The net effect is two new very high grade sections. And that’s in addition to the uber steep spot right after you pass under the highway. Classic CDOT: grossly overspend on a project that somehow makes things more difficult for everybody.
3. The lakes high up on Vail Pass sure are nice. A very welcomed respite after the tough miles.

In spite of all of that, I think it’s safe to say I thoroughly enjoyed Vail Pass this year. I was able to leverage my perspective and remind myself that cycling is actually pretty sweet. Enjoying a beautiful day in the mountains at 11,000+ feet on a stellar road bike isn’t something that everyone gets to do. I felt some real palpable waves of gratitude and happiness (in between the 10+ degree grades, at least) as I worked my way up.

For the first time in maybe forever, cycling seemed to feel a bit natural.

An absolutely perfect day to bike ride in the alpine.

Along one of the freshly completed new sections of the bike path.

After 7 miles of struggle, these two lakes at the top served as a great spot to welcome us to the final aid station at the top of Vail Pass.

Brian offering the perfect visual representation of what it feels like to climb 8 miles and 2,000 feet at high altitude.

Somehow, the final 5 miles of the Copper Triangle might be the best. Despite being wedged in between I-70, the descent into Copper in just an incredible place to be. We have been blessed this year with ample moisture, so the setting was as green, peaceful, and lush as just about anywhere. The fact that it comes after all the huffing and puffing of Vail Pass was the cherry on top.

Pretty dang happy at 10,666. Maybe this whole biking thing is starting to click after all.

Looking on towards Copper Mountain. This sneaky little stretch of pavement might be my favorite in the whole state. Certainly the best on the CT course.

One more looking down towards Copper.

Postscript: The Post Race Party

Aka: Beers, ninjas, and child-rearing at 10,000 feet.

One of the best parts about the Triangle is the after party. A family welcoming party, live music, a hearty lunch, Copper’s summer activities, and beer is hard to beat. The weather continued to be stellar and we continued to enjoy it all.

In between the never ending fun of the ice cream, ninja course, BMX track, and bumper boats, these three managed to sneak in a welcome at the finish line as well.

Great job out there fellas. I’m glad to see that Brian and I both look a tad more like cyclists this year. Give it another 3-5 years of this and you might not even see any hair on our legs in one of these post-race photos.

The proper way to end things. (photo by Brian)

All in all, there was a ton to be thankful for from this race.

I’m thankful it all went off so smoothly. I’m thankful for the beautiful day. I’m thankful for all the effort and volunteers who help pull it off. I’m thankful to have gotten to ride with two stellar dudes.

But most of all I’m just thankful that my biking journey sort of all came together just in time for this race. Between the proper gear, a bike that works, a timely docuseries, two exceptional companions, and just a bit more wisdom that can only be learned the hard way, the 2023 Copper Triangle set up to be the perfect redemption for a whole lot of struggles throughout the year. I’m excited to keep pushing some pedals coming off of this one.

Thanks for reading if you did. Happy spinning!