After dealing with a few work issues in the morning, Sam and I set off for the Tennessee Pass, between Minturn and Leadville. At 10,200 feet, the Tennessee Pass was the highest mainline railroad route in the United States. Originally constructed in 1881 as a narrow-gauge line by the Denver and Rio Grande, the route became the Southern Pacific's primary trans-continental route following its merger with the Rio Grande in 1988. The Union Pacific bought the Southern Pacific in 1996 and ran the last train over the line in 1997.
The pass was also the location of Camp Hale, a Nordic training center for troops of what would become the 10th Mountain Division of the US Army during World War II. Constructed in 1942, the camp housed nearly 16,000 soldiers for training in skiing, mountain climbing, and cross-country survival. The concrete foundations of the field house, several barracks, and other buildings remain.
I unwittingly stumbled upon stage 3 of the Gore-Tex Transrockies Run, a six-stage trail race from Buena Vista to Beaver Creek. The race features some of the top distance and trail runners in the world, and today's 24-mile stage took runners from Leadville to Camp Hale. Sam and I hiked around a bit and watched runners finish the last half-mile of the stage.
Sam and I then returned to the campground for a late lunch, and I decided to take a quick ride over the Tiger Road off-road trail before dinner. The trail sounded easy, it was nearby, and I figured I could get it in quickly, particularly if I drove the truck to the trailhead and started riding there.
The ride was a little trickier than I thought but quite scenic, including a couple of old cabins and a deteriorating dredge in the middle of a small pond. I rode for a few miles and decided to turn back, hoping tonight would be the night I would finally break out the grill.
Perhaps the thought of a dee-lish Schnucks turkey burger was clouding my mind when I approached a mudhole in the middle of a rock run that I had crossed on the way in with no problem. I thought for a second about trying to jump it but decided instead to ride through it, and, in an instant, that became the worst decision of this trip so far. While traveling at a good clip, the front wheel of the bike slammed into what I realized too late was a sharp, deep, flat wall at the head of the puddle. The bike stopped instantly, and the rear wheel flipped up and over the front of the bike, flipping it and me upside down. I was still clipped into the pedals, so I went over, bringing the bike down on top of me in the middle of the rocks. I unclipped and tried to assess the damage as blood streamed down my arm and hands. I knew there was nothing I could do there; I was in the middle of nowhere, nearly three miles from the trailhead and the truck, so I righted the bike and rode back to the truck.
The damage seems limited to cuts and bruises on my hands, a mildly sprained wrist, a pretty big abrasion near my elbow, and bruises on my back, hips, and legs. One bruise on my right leg perfectly matches my handlebar end, right down to the "S" for Specialized. I had hoped for a less painful and more useful souvenir from this trip.
