Highs and Lows of the Colorado Trail

Words and photos by James Flanagan

There’s a special place in my brain where the Colorado Trail has been quietly living for years. It’s there when I drive over the passes, when I scroll past dot-watches in August, when a friend says, “Someday I’ll race the CTR,” and I feel that little sting of recognition. I’d ridden chunks of it, followed other people’s rides, and I told myself the same thing, someday. This past summer, I finally ran out of excuses and lined up.

I’m a Front Range rider, and by day, the marketing manager at Wheels Manufacturing. That means my bike and I have popped up here before, once in the Rigs of the Colorado Trail Race 2025, and again in coverage of Wheels’ new chainrings. For this attempt, I rolled out on that same full-suspension carbon bike, loaded for the long haul. One of the few “new” things in the mix was a prototype chainring we’d been working on at the shop. And then the starting line disappeared behind me, and none of that really mattered anymore.

A Big Route in Your Backyard

Lining up for the CTR as a local hits different. You know pieces of the trail by feel. You’ve spun those first miles with an empty bike and a full night of sleep. You’ve watched hail dump on the high country from the safety of your car and thought, ,”Glad I’m not out there right now.” You’ve heard friends talk about scratching and quietly wondered which version of that story you’d end up telling.

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All that familiarity is comforting right up until it isn’t. On paper, my plan looked totally reasonable: conservative daily goals, a bike built to survive more than impress, extra time padded in for weather and bad days. I did the homework, rode the big training days, stared at the route like everybody else.

What I hadn’t done was stack all of that together on a clock, low on sleep, fully loaded, carrying everything I needed to live for a week. That’s where the video drops you in, right in that weird space between “I know this place” and “I honestly have no idea how this is going to play out.”

When the Trail Stops Being a Line on a Map

Those first hours of the CTR feel like a promise. Fresh legs, familiar singletrack, optimism doing most of the work. My head was full of numbers, average speed, resupply windows, and where I should be able to camp each night. Then the trail started trading those numbers for reality.

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A climb I’d filed under “not that bad” felt completely different with a heavy bike and a couple of rough nights behind me. A storm that looked harmless on the forecast turned into a real on-the-ground choice: push through and gamble, or hunker down and lose time. One missed time check turned into a shuffled plan that never quite snapped back to its original form.

There wasn’t one huge meltdown moment. It was a series of small ones. That’s what the video leans into. You get the big views and classic CTR sections, sure, but you also sit in the quiet stuff, long hike-a-bikes, tiny hesitations at a junction, the way your whole world shrinks to the edge of your light beam, and the subsequent ten pedal strokes. It’s not a story about “conquering” anything. It’s more about what it feels like when that long, neat line on the map starts talking back.

What Stayed Quiet, and What Didn’t

People always ask about the bike, so here’s the short version. I rode a full-suspension carbon mountain bike built with durability at the top of the list, tough tires, straightforward bags, a sleep setup I actually trusted, and a prototype Wheels Manufacturing chainring up front. It shows up in the video because it’s part of the backstory, but out there, it was just another piece of kit expected to do its job and stay out of the way.

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Happily, that’s exactly what it did. The best thing I can say about the chainring is that I had no issues and smooth pedal strokes, and on a ride like this, that’s the dream. The parts stayed quiet so the trail could make all the noise.

The loud stuff was in my head, recalculating goals, talking myself through the ugly bits, trying to decide if I was still “racing” the CTR or just pedaling as much of the Colorado Trail as I could before running out of time or energy.

What the Attempt Left Behind

Without spoiling every beat of the video, I’ll say this, the ride did not follow the version I sketched out at my desk. There are pieces I’m proud of, lines I wouldn’t have touched on a normal day, decisions made while half-cooked, a few stubborn little moments that kept the bike moving when it really wanted to stop. There are also choices I’d love to redo with a clearer head and a couple more snacks within reach.

Looking back, the finish time and exact stopping points feel less important than what the route carved out of me. The CTR forced me to be honest about where my limits actually are, about the gap between “knowing the trail” and being ready for the whole thing, about why I wanted to be out there in the first place. It asked bigger questions than “Can you make the next town by six?” and it definitely didn’t wait around for comfortable answers.

That’s what this project really is. Yes, there’s a bike, a setup, and a little prototype side plot. But underneath all that, it’s just one rider finally squaring up with a route he’s been carrying around for a long time.

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The Colorado Trail doesn’t care where you work, what logo is on your downtube, or how tidy your plan looked taped to the top tube. It meets you exactly as you are and, if you let it, sends you home as a slightly different version of yourself.

This video is my take on that shot, one slow pedal stroke, one hike-a-bike, and one small win at a time. Hit play if you want to ride along for the highs, the lows, and all the awkward middle bits that usually get cut from the highlight reel.

Further Reading

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