Nederland to Winter Park, or Bust

So, I took the early bus to Nederland with the lofty goal of biking solo from there to Winter Park. I thought to do this last winter while snowboarding at Eldora, where from its peak you can see the continental divide that obscures Winter Park. It seemed incredible that this resort town on the other side of the divide, which usually takes several hours of highway traffic to get to, was actually almost visible from where I stood. It would be visible, that is, if it weren't for the massive rock wall that rested in the low clouds. But nevermind that, Winter Park is actually quite close!

My plan was this; From Nederland, bike 5 miles along 119 to Rollinsville, bike 7 miles along East Portal Road to the Moffat Tunnel, then switchback to the top of Rollins Pass and come down the other side to Winter Park. I had my last minute reservations…why not drive to Rollinsville and start from there? But there might not be anywhere to park. I could even park at the Moffat Tunnel, eliminating 12 of the most boring miles from the journey, but what if I actually make it to Winter Park and want to sleep there – can I leave my car at the tunnel overnight? And the pass itself scared me the most, as supposedly the railway tunnel at its top has been barred off since it was abandoned in the 1920’s. And I had no idea how far Winter Park was from the Moffat Tunnel. In the end, I chose to just bike the whole thing, barring a bus ride to 8200 feet elevation.

My ride is my early 2000’s Gary Fisher HooKooekoo hardtail, picked up the other week from Community Cycles. Brennan, the store manager, told me it was "super awesome", but glazed over when questioned further, so today we'd see if she lived up to her reputation. The 5 highway miles were a breeze, a few ups and downs but it took surprisingly little time to arrive in Rollinsville, a small mountain town of 181 whose sole selling point is that it's even weirder than Nederland. The 20th century may have passed unnoticed, but at least it lacks the Charles Manson feel of nearby Ward. Moffat Road begins here, passing "downtown" Rollinsville a few hundred yards from its start. You can make out Indian Peaks Wilderness and the divide, still fresh with august snow. You can also see a white sign in the lower right, warning that the Needle Eye Tunnel was closed in 19 miles. We'll see about that!

The road was very clean, and my hardtail slicks labored to find traction on the wet, hardpacked dirt. It crossed meadows and ponds as it climbed a very slight grade, making me earn every yard.

And it paralleled the South Boulder Creek and still-operating Union Pacific Railroad, which hurdled one another as they stretched westward towards the divide.

I come upon a small yellow house. A strangely striking color choice, bold considering the surroundings. Now boarded up, this was long ago used as schoolhouse for the town of Tolland, which is now a Colorado ghost town.

If it weren't for all the espresso and quaintness, I'd be bored by the 7 mile Moffat Road, but it eventually ends at the turnoff for the Moffat Tunnel, where I turn right and am met by the terrain I came out here to ride!

And so my real journey begins! From here on out, the trail consists of the roadbed for the Denver and Salt Lake Railroad, which was abandoned in 1928 when the Moffat Tunnel opened, and the even older Boulder Wagon Road. This "road" starts out at a gentle 2% grade and then goes over 4%, which wouldn't be a big deal if it weren't for all the rocks. Some sections were relatively clean, as you can see in the photo above, while some required swerving. The view on the right was beautiful, as you could see the Moffat Road and railway getting more and more distant, and the yellow house eventually became a speck. See if you can find it in this photo.

I snapped this next pic to show to my forest ranger roomate. Mountain Pine Beetle kills? I think so. In the Rockies you hear quite a bit about these pests. Interesting to see them in action.

I chose this trip on a weekday to avoid leisure traffic, which in most areas is an annoyance, but the near-complete lack of people on foot, four wheels or two on Rollins Pass on this particular Monday was downright spooky. It's hard not to imagine bears in the dark woods on either side of the road. My tires for once began to enjoy the terrain, but the unending upwardness of it all allowed for no breaks, no momentum, and at times I felt I was hiking on two wheels while pushing a hunk of aluminum through the forest. 

I'm more used to road touring, where this distance can be covered quickly and effortlessly, but it takes hours of trudging uphill to reach the treeline. And snow, too! Summer snow is still a novelty, even after years of living here.

The map I'd picked up in the Rollinsville general store contained a very rough sketch of my intended route, lacking much information about distance, grade, landmarks or trail conditions, despite a litany of historical anecdotes. Without road signs I had very little idea where I was, but there were no forks in the road and eventually I came upon a very real landmark in the form of this little beauty:

Yankee Doodle Lake, at long last! A swift stream flowed into its western side, the last bit of snowmelt before the brief summer is swallowed by blizzards and bitter cold. A sign warns that moose weigh 1000 pounds, can run 35 miles per hour "without looking" and they treat dogs as enemies equal to wolves, having been known to run out of their way to kick a dog. I'm not kidding, that was pretty much the exact wording. I chuckle at the thought of a giant, blindfolded moose sprinting out of nowhere to punt lassie into the pond, and then continue the slow climb around Yankee Doodle and up more switchbacks.

Now, a bit of history; Yankee Doodle Lake is one of the Indian Peaks Wilderness’s many alpine lakes, fed by high glaciers and frozen most of the year. And in November of 2001, this particular lake swallowed two backcountry skiers who were enjoying a day of perfect powder. Their fun ended when they triggered an avalanche 400 feet wide and 5 feet thick to plummet down the southeast bank, where it crashed into the ice and launched a 12-foot alpine tsunami. You never can be too careful up here! 

This high, the trees grow in patches and they're very small, allowing you to see your surroundings much better. My fear of bears eases with this change, but in its place comes a new feeling of isolation and exposure. At 11,000 feet there's much less oxygen and the huge, looming snowy peaks contrasted with the ever-shrinking Yankee Doodle, and all of this combines into vertigo. But I press on!

I have to dismount to get past this unexpected hurdle. A tunnel forms for the railway that never got its shit together a century ago. Huge rocks, presumably having fallen from the tunnel walls, tile the dirt below.

Yankoo Doodle Lake from the side of the trail:

...and a frightening drop down a little ways further

At long last, the Needle Eye Tunnel at 11,600 feet! I've reached the top of the divide, and just as I've read, there sure as hell isn't any way through it! Abandoned with the rest of the railway in 1928, it was closed off in 1990 when a rock from the ceiling landed on a Denver firefighter.

But hey, at least whoever blocked it off had a sense of humor:

Now, I have some very important decisions to make. Do I push my bike up over the top of the tunnel? I read that this is illegal, but it seemed like quite a longshot to find a ranger waiting for me at the top.  It was my intention from the outset to reach Winter Park, and I knew I'd probably make it if I tried. But I didn't know much of anything about what was on the other side of this pass. Was it steep? Was it gravel? Huge, unpassable boulders? Was it longer than what I'd already ridden? I hated myself at this moment for not doing more research. Then I unzipped my Camelback and found that I'd drank almost all of my water. The weight on my back must have been from the bike tube, leatherman, cell phone, keys and other heavy items that were of no use. But the water was pretty much gone. I knew I'd be fine getting back to Rollinsville, as it was all downhill, but without water I was not going to hike over the divide into God knows what. I decided that I'd hike over the top to at least get a view, and then return. There were light trails leading over the tunnel, and here's what I saw on top:

 ...and a few bizarre rock structures. This route was first used by American Indians, who also found it a natural low point to cross the divide.

But from there I could not see the trails west of the divide. Just higher peaks and snow. So I descended the way I'd came and reluctantly began the treck back down to Boulder, some 42 miles away. I stopped every now and then to re-evaluate, look back at my water and map, come up with some reason to turn around and try for Winter Park. No one will care that I made it to a tunnel that no one's ever heard of, but Winter Park, from Nederland! What a feat that would be! Eventually, I'd made enough ground that to turn back seemed out of the question. It didn't take long to reach Yankee Doodle once again, where I was pleased to find a fellow human. The older man was resting by his ATV eating a sandwich, but he looked approachable so I walked up and asked if he knew what the roads were like beyond the tunnel. "I've never been there myself", he said, "but my friends tell me it's easier than the road we're on now". He went on to tell me that it was all downhill from the tunnel in either direction, and I had plenty of daylight left to make it. I relented, explaining my water situation. He laughed, pointing at the small waterfall on the other side of the lake. "There might be DIA jet fumes in there, but we're high up enough that it's perfectly safe to drink". I thought for a minute. "Yea, fill up over there and then ride down to Winter Park, there's coffeeshops there and everything". 

I had some serious thinking to do. This man just eliminated the only two reasons I had for turning around. I reasoned I'd lose an hour backtracking to the tunnel, but even then I'd still have at least 3 hours of sunlight. And if he was correct - and I believe he was - from the top of the tunnel it'd make no difference which direction I went, but only west would make the trip a success. So I turned around. 

The waterfall was very small but I easily filled up my bottle and then drank it in seconds. It tasted incredible. I re-filled it and filled my camelback as well, and now with as much water as I'd had when I started out, I confidently charged back up the rocky trail. No pictures were taken this time, I just wanted to get up and over the top without stopping or thinking long enough to change my course yet again. After 45 minutes I could once again see the tunnel.

And then, one of those things happened. No noise could have halted my adrenaline frenzy, except of course, for one; Thunder may be frightening in normal circumstances, but up here it demands a certain course of action. When you're above tree line, lightning is a very serious danger.  I stopped for a moment to take a picture of the approaching cloud that until now was obscured by the cliffs.

There was no way to tell whether it would dissipate soon or continue into an all-night electrified downpour. If I was a half hour quicker or the cloud was later, I would already be over the pass and the right decision would be to head to Winter Park. But on this side of the divide, I could only hightail it back the way I came. The wind picked up and everything around me dimmed.

The weather eventually let up and I was safely below the treeline, but by then I'd gotten so far that a third attempt was out of the question. I'm pretty new to mountain biking, but the bike rolled over everything I threw at it. I was desperate to make it to Ned, where an Indian dinner awaited me, so I sped down the path. The speed made the ride so jarring that my hands were losing skin to the handles, the only remedy for which was to tighten my grip, which transferred the energy to my biceps, which rattled so hard that I thought they might dislodge.

12 miles or so later, I reached the Moffat Tunnel. The gentle downhill of the next dirt road, with its lack of rocks, allowed me to rocket my way back through the scenery I'd labored past earlier in the day. With another 7 miles, I reached Rollinsville.

And with daylight fading, I made it back to Ned. Too tired bike the remaining 17 miles to Boulder, I load my bike on the bus next to a $10 cruiser, strapped with heavy panniers and loaded by an old bearded man with pencil-thin legs, shorts terminating right below his junk. Just another day in the mountains.

Needless to say, writing this up a day later, I feel like I have failed. If anyone wants to attempt this with me in the future, send me a line. It's not just safer with friends, but these solo missions turn out to be an awful lot more boring than you intend them to be!