I stumbled into road cycling again after an injury. I didn’t plan to get back in the saddle with anything big, I just wanted to feel strong again. But as luck (or poor impulse control) would have it, I found myself signed up for a legendary event in Colorado called Tour of the Moon. It was scenic, challenging, and a little reckless but in the best way. Whether this event is still running or not, the route itself is timeless. And for anyone midlife and mildly unhinged like I was at the time, it’s a ride you won’t forget.
The Tour of the Moon takes place in Grand Junction, Colorado, looping through the Colorado National Monument. You might recognize it from the film American Flyers or the old Coors Classic race. There were two distances: a ~100 km option and a shorter ~66 km route. I signed up for the short one, not knowing what I was getting into while being aware Grand Junction is at elevation and I was coming from sea-level.
I didn’t train in the traditional way. My pre-event “prep” involved lapping a downhill mountain bike park. You know, the kind with chairlifts, full-face helmets, and zero interest in climbing. Great for fun, not so great for simulating a long, steady road climb at elevation. I may have gained some bike handling skills (and a few bruises), but not a shred of cardio readiness. By the time I arrived in Grand Junction and drove the actual course, reality hit: this wasn’t a playful park loop. It was a slow, relentless climb into thin air. Still, I figured momentum and stubbornness might get me through. Spoiler: they did. Eventually.
I started around 8 a.m. which was late enough to get light, and early enough to avoid the heat. At the start line, it was freezing. Not just chilly but actual winter vibes. It was early October when I did it, nights were getting cold. But by the time I reached the higher climbs, it had warmed up into a comfortable low 20s Celsius. If you ever ride it, bring layers you can shed like bad advice.
The first climb out of the gate was the kind that looks terrifying in your rearview mirror but feels surprisingly gentle under your pedals. It hovered around a 3% grade which was just enough to remind you that gravity is a thing but not enough to make you regret your life choices. It felt manageable, and I started to settle in.
Despite being solo, I didn’t feel alone. I got nicknamed “The Canadian” pretty quickly, which sparked a few mid-ride chats with locals who were curious, encouraging, and hilariously blunt. There was a great energy to the ride. No competitive edge, just people enjoying the challenge.
About halfway through, I started to feel the altitude. The Monument loop climbs to over 6,600 feet (2,000+ meters), and my sea-level-trained legs started lagging. I wasn’t bonking, just… fading. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion, including my brain. But once I reached the top and saw the expansive canyon view, the fatigue faded. That view has lived rent-free in my head ever since.
Then came the descent. This is the part you either love or fear, depending on how much you trust your brakes. We were briefly paced by a police car, which was both hilarious and kind of perfect. It felt like being chaperoned on a joyride. Eventually, they peeled off, and I let the bike fly. That final stretch made all the climbing worth it.
When I crossed the finish line, I wasn’t thinking about my average speed or heart rate. I was just happy. That kind of happy that only comes after doing something you weren’t totally sure you could pull off. My training had been chaotic, my gear was average at best, and I rode it solo. And it still worked. I still finished. And I still remember it like it happened last month.
So, is this ride still officially happening? At the time I’m writing this, it is but you’d need to check. But even if it’s not, the Monument loop is open to the public. You can recreate the route, with caution, since it’ll include vehicle traffic. And honestly, riding it outside of an event might make it feel even more personal.
If you’re curious about riding it yourself — or something like it — I’m happy to help you figure out a training plan that suits where you’re at in life, not where some Strava leaderboard thinks you should be. This ride reminded me that adventure doesn’t have to be perfect, planned, or even logical. It just has to move you. And this one did.
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