To Telluride and Back!

To Telluride and Back

by David Horn

DISCOVERY

I first stumbled upon Telluride way back in 1988. My brother Mike and I were several weeks into a cross-country bicycling adventure. This was our second summer-long cycling adventure together (Mike's second of three and my fourth of eight transcontinental bicycle adventures). We had been on the road for a few weeks, having crossed the Mojave, visited the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, and now the Rocky Mountains. This particular day we found ourselves climbing mountain passes and dodging rain showers. As evening approached, we spun down from Lizard Head pass in the pouring rain, and decided that we ought to try to find some shelter in this little town named Telluride. We had never heard of Telluride, as we had just begun skiing, lived in Maryland, and mountain bikes weren't even a thing. Not to mention this was almost ten years prior to the internet. For us, Telluride was just a place to escape the rain.

As we approached town, the rain had been alternating between light sprinkles and sheets of downpour. At times our visibility was reduced to just a few hundred yards. Unfortunately, we didn't get to experience the "Telluride Awe"—you know, the amazement most people experience the first time they approach Telluride and gaze at the steep walls of that iconic box canyon and the stunning waterfalls at the end of town. As we continued to cycle down Highway 145, still a mile or two from town, we saw dark storm clouds quickly approaching and knew that we were about to become drenched. We searched for somewhere to hide out, when we noticed a health club just a few hundred yards away. We quickly sprinted up the short driveway and headed into the health club, just hoping to hide out for awhile and wait for a hiatus in the rain. While standing around in the lobby area we figured it couldn't hurt to ask if we could use the showers. To our surprise, the attendant graciously allowed us to do so…sans fee! After showering we asked if there were any spots in town where we could set up our tents for the night. He wasn't really sure but suggested the town park as a possibility. A break in the rain afforded us a small window of opportunity, so we quickly mounted our bikes and cycled into town in search of the town park. We knew we had to ride quickly since we could see the the dark clouds hovering over the box canyon. We were dreading setting up our tents in the pouring rain but this storm didn't appear to be going away anytime soon. As we cruised down Telluride's main street, Colorado Avenue, we picked up on the hippie vibe, noting the many dreadlocks, tie-dyed shirts, and sandals. What a cool, funky main street!

After passing through town we finally reached the park. We fruitlessly searched for a dry spot to set up our tents. Every square inch of the park was drenched. Shoot, every square inch of the town was drenched! For those of you who tent camp I'm sure you can feel our pain. Setting up in the pouring rain is miserable!

AND THEN...we hit the motherlode!

We noticed a lone small building near the ball fields, so we quickly rode over and peeked in the window. It was just a non-descript building with a couple of benches and a fireplace. Probably a place for folks to get warm during the winter. What were the chances the door would be unlocked? We checked anyway, and lo and behold, the knob turned! We set up our sleeping bags and pads on the floor and reveled in the amazement that we would be sleeping out of the rain! That night we slept with smiles, knowing our tents would be bone dry in the morning.

The next morning, we woke up and could see clear skies through the window, and when we finally walked through the door and gazed upward we were able to experience the "Telluride Awe" for the first time! The love affair with Telluride officially began at that moment. We didn't stay long. We did a little bit of exploring but since the streets were basically mud, except for Colorado Avenue, we ended up just riding out of town, making a mental note to return someday.

Over the years and decades, I regularly visited Telluride and watched it slowly transform from a funky little town with a small ski area and just one paved street, to what it is today. Some of the changes are fantastic, while others make me long for the Telluride of 1988. Little did I know that while I was standing in the town park that morning, gazing up at those stunning mountains, that this was just the beginning of a decades long love affair I would have with a tiny town called Telluride!

1988...trying to stay dry before the cold descent to Telluride.

Entering Telluride for the very first time.

Years later my brother and I revisited our sleeping quarters.

A CHANCE ENCOUNTER PRESENTS AN OPPORTUNITY

Flash ahead to the summer of 2019. I am married, have two wonderful kids, and we love traveling. Each summer we would drag our trailer to a different part of the country and explore. This particular summer we chose New Mexico and Colorado as our playground. One of our favorite parts of Colorado are the San Juan Mountains, so of course we HAD to visit Telluride!

Fortunately we found an available spot in the town campground (I wonder if the campground was there in 1988 and we just missed it?) and we parked our tiny, 16-foot trailer (aka "Prison Cell on Wheels") there for the week. During the day we would hike, play in the creek, backpack to Blue Lake, shop, explore, and occasionally I would sneak in a mountain bike ride.

It was during one of these mountain bike rides that I just happen to stumble upon the Telluride One Hundred Mountain Bike Race. I had no idea there was even a race going on until I crossed paths with a couple of racers while riding the trails at the ski area (most likely the Prospect trail). After noticing their race plates, my curiosity was piqued and I just had to ask for details. They told me they were racing in the Telluride One Hundred. I asked if it was 100 kilometers or 100 miles, and they replied, “100 miles!”

I was at first astonished! 100 miles? At high altitude? With huge mountains? My mind was racing! Astonishment soon became envy. I found myself jealous of those racers, wishing I was riding with them. Envy quickly transformed into a goal, and by the time I rode back to the campsite, it was pretty much decided…I was going to do it! I quickly shared the story with my wife, Crista, and without hestitation, she excitedly said, "YOU ABSOLUTELY SHOULD DO IT!"

Then the pandemic hit.

The "Prison Cell on Wheels"

Our rain shelter back in 1988.

TIME TO GET BUSY

Finally, in 2022, everything came together. I was retired from teaching (35 great years!) and, although I am 60 years old, I have always taken care of myself and I felt like my body was up to the challenge. Well, at least I told myself that. So, in January I took a deep breath, clicked the enter button, and registered for the Telluride One Hundred!

Even though I cycle year-round (Maryland weather) I knew I needed a plan. This race was not something you just showed up and did. You had to prepare months in advance if you wanted to finish within the allowed time. After talking to my brother in-law I decided that following a well thought-out training plan would be a lot more effective than just guessing what I should be doing. With the help of a company called Training Peaks, a plan was developed and the real work began in earnest around the beginning of March…intervals, hill climbs, sprint work, endurance rides, road rides, gravel, singletrack, and all sorts of other various training sessions—all designed to get me across the finish line in Telluride on July 30th.

Living at sea level presented a problem. It's, well, at sea level. Nothing can truly simulate high altitude other than being at high altitude, so I decided that I would head west on July 1st and live and train in the thinner air for a solid month before the July 30th race day. So, I packed up my camping gear and loaded up my small pick-up truck and I bee-lined across the country to Colorado. My brother (the same brother who biked across the country with me) lives in Arvada (in the western suburbs of Denver) and I stayed there for three days, driving up to Nederland each day to train.

Driving from Maryland to Colorado. Kansas is not always boring!

After three days of staying at 6,000 feet above sea level (and training at 8,000'-10,000' at Ned), I was ready to head up to the real high country. My goal was to not only bike at the same or higher altitude as the race, but to also camp at high altitude (the race course is entirely between 8,750' and 11,200'). I was hoping to have my body fully acclimated to the altitude by race day. First stop...Leadville. I figured I might as well start my alititude training at the highest town in America! I stayed outside of Leadville for three days and continued to follow the training plan. Intervals at 11,000' were no cake walk!

I ended up doing a small tour of Colorado, spending three to four days at one place and then moving on. Leadville, Aspen, Creede, Silverton, Ouray, Telluride, and Durango areas became my main base setups. I spent most nights dispersed camping (driving on gravel or jeep roads to remote spots and camping for free). I also spent a few days with my wife’s cousin in Aspen. Jenny, aka Dr. Strople, was speaking at a medical conference and graciously invited me to stay with her at Snowmass.

I succesfully stayed at or above 9000' for the entire month of July. A few nights I was even camping above 11,000'! I was surprised at how quickly my body got used to the altitude. I only recall having a slight headache one day near the beginning.

Dispersed camping in Colorado is fantastic! Mt. Elbert in the background.

Training ride. As soon as I snapped this photo it began to rain. Had to ride all the way back to Silverton in a cold rain with no rain jacket.

Dinner view from dispersed site near Leadville.

Definitely got some speed work in during this training ride near Creede.

A MORNING OF ADMIRATION

While in the Silverton area I was able to spend a morning watching the Hard Rock 100 runners finish. What a cool vibe! The ultra-running community seems a lot like the ultra-mountain biking community; competing, but also loving and supporting each other at the same time. Even though I arrived in Silverton at about 4:30am I still missed seeing Killian Jornet cross the finish line. When I arrived, there was a very small crowd of people at the finish area and Killian, along with the second and third place finishers, were sitting by "the rock" just chatting. I hung around and roamed the back streets of Silverton for a few hours, waiting for my wife's hero, Courtney Dauwalter, to finish. At about 8am I could hear the cheers begin to build, and then Courtney came running in! First place female and new course record!

An hour or so after Courtney kissed the rock I was able to briefly hang out with her as she recovered inside the small Silverton gymnasium. Courtney was nice enough to let me video record her giving my wife, Crista, a message of motivation. Crista was actually in the midst of her own one hundred mile running race, the Vermont 100. I was able to send the video clip to my daughter, Lucy, who was crewing for Crista, and at about the sixty mile mark Crista was able to watch Courtney's words of wisdom! Courtney is not only an absolute elite ultra-runner, but she is also a wonderful person and role model. She even mentioned to me how she doesn't like to pass people near the end of the race because she feels like it would detract from their experience. Amazing.

L to R: Dakota Jones, Francois D'Haene, Killian Jornet

Courtney Dauwalter, right after setting a course record for the Hard Rock 100.

Courtney's Message to Crista

ON TO TELLURIDE

After four weeks of high altitude training it was time to head over to Telluride. On July 28 I packed up my camping gear and moved into the condo I had rented for three nights. Fortunately, the condo was just a short walk from the gondola base, which is where the race starts and ends. My worrisome mind was already planning for a wobbly, weak-legged walk after the race. I was even wondering if, after the race, I would be able to climb the stairs up to my second floor room!

Race day was becoming a reality. The countdown was on!

Nerves and anxiety were gathering steam as race day neared. Sleeping was sporadic, as my mind was in overdrive…constantly going through the checklist in my head of everything that goes into a race of this magnitude. Lying in bed at night, my mind would replay the same questions over and over and over: How should I hydrate? What about nutrition? How much rain will there be? Will I have enough layers if it rains? Do I carry tools? How much rain will there be? Should I carry a spare tube? Will I get enough sleep? How much rain will there be? Will I cramp? And, most stressful of all…will I make the cut-offs? Oh, and how much rain will there be?

I wish I could have a dollar for every time I checked the weather forecast for race day. I downloaded no less than five weather apps on my phone, and I would check them all, always believing the app that had the best forecast! Forecast for race day…80% chance of rain. Ugh.

RACE DAY

I set my alarm for 4:30am, but my nerves had me up and out of bed at least an hour earlier. The actual race start time was 6:00am so I had plenty of time to get ready, probably too much time since I basically had everything laid out and prepared the night before. Without a support crew with me, I had decided to pack everything I thought I might need at the midway point of the race into a plastic tub. The race is comprised of two separate loops that both begin and end at the gondola area. The tub contained things like gels, hydration powder, fresh socks, an extra shirt, chamois butter, and an assortment of other stuff I surely didn't need but packed anyway. At about 4:15am I grabbed my plastic tub and walked down the eerily quiet streets and alleys of Telluride in near pitch-black darkness, heading to the start area next to the gondola station. I stashed my tub out of sight and then walked back to my room. Once back, I nervously checked, double checked, and triple checked my bike and gear. After writing the times and distances of the cut-offs and aid stations on tape and placing them onto my handlebars, I was ready to go! It was only 5:00 am. I paced around nervously for about thirty more minutes and then finally, at 5:30am, it was time to head over to the gondola area.

I arrived at the gondola area and took my box out of hiding and placed it near the announcer's table. I found a spot to sit down and then simply sat back and watched as the crowd began to grow. I noticed most folks were standing in small groups, nervously chatting. Some of racers were warming up, some were adjusting their gear, but most were just talking. Talking a lot. I wasn't the only Nervous Nelly. Waiting for the announcement for the racers to head to the starting area seemed to take forever. I wasn't this nervous on my wedding day!

Finally, the PA system kicked on. It was time. The announcer instructed us to head to the starting area, where we were then instructed as to how we should arrange ourselves: Elites and sub-8-hour riders go to the front, then sub-9, then sub-10, and finally the leftovers who were either doing the 50 mile race or those who have never done a 100-mile race and have no clue where to line up. Yup, that was me and these were my people! I ended up almost at the absolute back of the pack, there were just a small hand-full of racers lined up behind me.

Five minutes until go-time and my thoughts were ricocheting all over the place! Of all of my thoughts that were flying around the biggest worry I had was whether or not I would make the cut-off times. What if I did all of this training, traveling, and preparation only to be pulled off of the race? I knew the first cut-off was at the 2:55 mark and that it was at mile 18. I had calculated during my training that it shouldn't be a problem making it, but I had looked at the course map and elevation graph way too many times, so I knew there was a HUGE climb leading up to the first cut-off...THE TELLURIDE TRAIL. Deep breaths.

And then suddenly, before I knew it…we were off!

Aid stations and cut-off times.

My box of "stuff" for mid-race.

GO TIME!

As we pedaled away from the gondola area and headed toward Colorado Avenue I kept telling myself, "don't crank it, save your energy, no red-lining." But that was easier said than done; my body wanted to go, go, go while my mind knew it was going to be a long day and I had to keep it steady. Nervous conversation was mixed with silent and serious facial expressions as we pedaled out of town, each rider's thoughts buried deep inside their minds. I was surprised at the pace and was thinking that there was no way I could keep this up for 104 miles! I guess I wasn't the only one whose body wanted to just go, go, go.

Very quickly, things began to slide into normalcy. My breathing slowed down, my legs were on autopilot, and I looked around at the absolute beauty that is Telluride. The sun had just started to rise but since it was an overcast day, instead of brilliant blue sky and bright sun, we were gifted with stunning orange, red, and even purple clouds above the mountains. Wilson Peak (the mountain depicted on Coors Light cans) looked like a watercolor painting. As we trudged up our first climb I mentioned something about the sunrise to a couple of fellow racers who were near me. One rider just stared forward in silence while the other rider gave a polite, "oh wow." Seemingly not interested in sunrises at the moment.

BACK TO RACE MODE

After looping out by the airport and hitting the downhill singletrack, I then had an easy spin on the bike path that leads back to town. Easy, physically at least. My mind was nervously preparing itself for the big climb up the Telluride Trail. I had pre-ridden the Last Dollar climb a few days prior and had even ridden up Black Bear Pass a week or so earlier, but the Telluride Trail was closed to bikers except on race day so I had to just use my imagination (which is not a good thing!). The Telluride Trail AND the first cut-off were looming ahead.

Although there was some hike-a-bike involved, the Telluride Trail climb ended up not being as challenging as I had anticipated. First cut-off…I had made it! And had a 50-minute buffer to boot! Whew! Huge weight off of my shoulders. I really didn’t worry about the cut-offs for the rest of the race. Outside of a mechanical breakdown, crash, or exhaustion I was confident I was going to be okay. Even better news…no rain! And now the first major downhill!

Even though I was in race mode, I couldn't stop myself from smiling as I flew through mile after mile of aspens! We don't have aspen trees in Maryland. I'm not sure why, but whenever I come out west and ride through one of those unique aspen groves, surrounded by the signature white bark, it brings me an intense feeling of joy. It's otherworldly.

The rest of loop one went great (this race is essentially two very similar loops)! I had no idea how much singletrack was involved. A pleasant surprise for sure. Just a little mud here and there but nothing treacherous. Magic Meadows, Galloping Goose, Prospect…all of these trails that I had been seeing on course maps and YouTube videos were now coming to life! Again, I caught myself just smiling and having fun! Sometimes my mind would forget that this was a race. It would often just feel like I was doing an epic ride!

I rolled into the gondola station area at 5 hours and 9 minutes. Fifty miles done! Wow! I was hoping to be under 13 hours total, so I was way ahead of schedule! A little tired but overall, feeling good. I did a quick fill of the water bottles, slapped some knee ointment onto the arthritic knees, ate a snack, and was off to loop two!

LOVE riding through the aspens!

LOOP TWO

In my mind, loop two was going to be easier than loop one. In my mind. In reality…Ummm, nope! The moment I took off and spun down Colorado Avenue to start loop two it began to rain (at 9,000 feet of elevation, rain means COLD rain). It rained on and off for the entire loop. There were just enough breaks in the rain to force me to stop and take my jacket off, but then 20 or 30 minutes later it would start raining again and it would be back on. Jacket on, jacket off, repeat, again and again and again.

Climbing up to Last Dollar Pass was daunting but at least familiar, since I pre-ridden it the week prior. It was comforting knowing (roughly) where the steep parts were and where the top was. Pre-riding is truly a mental godsend! It didn't make the climb any easier, especially with 60 miles on the legs, but it took the mystery out of wondering when I would reach the summit.

At the top of Last Dollar Pass the folks at the 63 mile aid station had the magic potion! Well, maybe not exactly a potion but magic it was….BACON! At first, I politely declined, I was intent on maintaining a rigid nutrition plan. The plan called for only the consumption of carbs. No fats or proteins. But once the plate of hot bacon was put in front of me and I caught a whiff I couldn't resist! It took all of my self-control to not devour the entire plate! Oh man, that was good! I wish I could remember names but whoever they were…THANK YOU!!!

Bacon consumed, water bottles filled, chain lubed, and now it was time for the second BIG downhill! I took off from the bacon station at elevation 10,700' and started cranking down the backside of Last Dollar Road. It was so nice to be going fast again! But, alas, the rains came. Not an ordinary sprinkle or light shower, nope, this was real rain. Heavy rain. COLD rain. Raindrops so big that at first, I thought I was being pummeled by hail! Small rivers were forming down the dirt road as I descended. Dirt, mud, and grit splattered all over my face and chest. Several times I had to stop and clear my glasses, squirting Tailwind from my water bottle just so I could see. Riding without frequent glasses "cleaning" would have been impossible! Oh, and I think I have invented a new gel flavor…Strawberry Mud. Yummy.

The gravel downhill was long. Long, fast, WET, but also cold. At one point I had to decide whether to slow things down to be safe and allow the hands to warm up, or to just say, "fuck it!" and let it fly. I couldn't resist…Let It Fly won by a landslide. Pretty sure this was where I broke 42 mph! Just as the downhill ended, so did the rain. Timing. Well, the rain ended for a little while, there would be plenty more later.

78 miles down! To my amazement, I was actually feeling pretty good, so after leaving the 78-mile aid station I decided I would go for it; crank up the speed and see if I could finish under 10 hours! As I was riding on the double track along the creek I was doing the mental math...my Garmin data was telling me that I had a chance! I flew right by the 84-mile aid station without stopping and was on my way to a sub-10 hour!

Or so I thought.

Oh, how that dream was quickly crushed! My memory did not serve me well (as it rarely does nowadays), and I had forgotten all about the long climb up Ilium Road, which began shortly after the mile 84 aid station. Up, up, and more up. And some spots were STEEP! At one point I glanced at my Garmin and I saw that I was doing a whopping 2.4 mph! Okay, sub-10 hours was not going to happen. At that point I decided to notch it down a bit and just cruise the final miles to the finish line.

At mile 99.8 I glanced at my Garmin and was wondering...where is Telluride?! I was still up high on the Galloping Goose Trail with Telluride nowhere in sight. My memory had failed me once again…this race was 104 miles, not 100! Soon, I was off of the dirt and back onto the bike path that leads into town.

Only photo I snapped during race. Right after the crazy descent down Last Dollar!

THE FINISH!

Finally...THE LAST MILE! Pedaling down the bike path alongside Highway 145 in a downpour brought back nostalgic memories of the first time approaching Telluride 34 years ago. Just like in 1988, I couldn't see the mountains or waterfalls at the end of town, only dark clouds and water droplets on my glasses.

Cold, wet, tired, and covered in grit and mud did nothing to dampen my spirits. My smile was as wide as Wilson Peak is tall. I cruised into town, turned into the gravel parking lot, and headed toward the final climb. Not a big climb by any means, maybe 30 or 40 yards long, but at this point, the legs were feeling the previous 13,000' of climbing. Why did this little hill seem so much steeper than it did the first two times I rode up earlier in the race? I was determined to NOT walk up the final climb! I cranked up those final vertical feet, hoping to avoid triggering a leg cramp. After cresting the hill I could see and hear the Gondola area. I coasted down a short downhill, crossed under the finish line banner, and heard over the loudspeakers, "all the way from Frederick, Maryland…David Horn!" I couldn't stop smiling!

After crossing the finish line, I rode a few more yards toward my supply tub, dropped my bike onto the grass and began taking my helmet off. Almost immediately, I was approached by Tobin, the race director and founder. He handed me a coin and gave me a brief history of the miners' coins. Tobin then said something that caught me completely off-guard. He said, "be sure you are back here at 6:30 for the awards. You're going to be on the podium!" I was absolutely shocked! It turned out that I ended up in second place in my age group.

It was about 4:30pm when I finished, giving me two hours before the awards ceremony, so I decided to pedal back to the condo and get a shower. After a very long, very hot shower, I laid on the bed and started to doze off. I almost missed the awards ceremony! At about 6:15pm I walked back over to the Gondola station and ordered a burger and a beer and waited for the awards to begin. At about 6:45 they called my name to the podium. The first-place finisher beat me by four minutes. I had no idea until he told me up at the podium…but I was actually in first place (age group) as late in the race as mile 98! I stayed until the end of the awards, astonished at the finishing times of the elites! The overall champion finished just under seven hours!

HEADING EAST

The next morning I packed up, and drove out of Telluride. Not knowing when I would be here again. Hopefully next year! I had a long, long drive ahead to New Hampshire to meet my family, who were at my in-laws lake house. As I drove out of town on 145 I looked in my rear view mirror and saw dark clouds over Telluride. I pulled over and took a final photo of the town I have grown to love, wondering when I will return.

I am so glad I was able to complete the race and absolutely joyful that I chose Telluride as my first 100 mile race!

Not only a wonderful surprise, but what a great award, that thing is solid metal!

Hats off to Tobin and Jennifer!

Not sure where the third place finisher was. Maybe he dozed off like I nearly did!

THANK YOU!

First off, I want to thank my lovely wife, Crista, for supporting me this summer. While I was out here doing my thing she was holding down the fort, taking care of the family, working, AND kicking ass in the Vermont 100! (PR for Crista...25 hours, 3 minutes!)

Next, I want to thank all of the folks involved in putting on this fantastic event. I was blown away by the friendliness of not only the volunteers and spectators but also the other racers. The Telluride 100 has more of a fun ride feel instead of a race. Maybe it was just my perspective from the middle of the pack, but there were no cut-throat, win-at-all-costs attitudes anywhere out on the course. There were plenty of cheers at the aid stations, yelling, "way to go" and "you look great!" And after the podium, "congratulations!"

And last but not least, hats off to Jennifer and Tobin Behling for creating such a wonderful event! Their hard work is evident throughout the entire event. From the easy to navigate website, super welcoming packet pick-up, and fantastic swag bag, to the course markings, friendly faces at the finish line, and wonderful aid stations!

Can't wait for next year!

Miner's coin. The miners used to take one as they entered the mines and then they would drop them off on their way out. This was the method used to make sure everyone who went in actually came out.