Sometimes It's About the Destination

Trying & failing to seek extrinsic motivation

Miles of gravel roads crisscross the hills and canyons surrounding Gold Hill, population 218. Perched over Lefthand Canyon, the town’s dirt streets host Colorado’s oldest continuously-operating school, a cozy inn where bluegrass musicians attract boot-stomping visitors from Boulder and Denver until late on Friday and Saturday nights, and a general store. With more vert and good views than anyone could ever appreciate in one lifetime, it’s a gravel biker’s paradise.

The general store, which has stood since the town’s schoolhouse started operating in 1873, serves as an aid station for bikers, provided they can make it up the more than three thousand-foot climb from Boulder. I, along with friends Payton, Matt, Mitch, Morgan, Kaleigh, and Jacob, aimed for the general store early last Saturday morning.

Payton had rounded us up to check this classic Boulderite activity off her bucket list after recently moving here from Denver. The ride was very explicitly about reaching a specific destination, in contrast to the usual intrinsic motivation of our hobbies. We aren’t usually going anywhere in any real sense of the word. The fun part of skiing is getting to ski. Trail running is enjoyable because of the running itself—the crunch of gravel under your feel, the views of a distant mountain range from a ridgeline, the flow state when speedily navigating a rocky trail.

Even when climbing a mountain, the superficial destination is the top, sure, but there isn’t usually anything up there other than maybe a survey marker confirming that, yep, this particular pile of rocks is it. The summit isn’t why I’m there. I’m there to do something challenging, maybe even so challenging that I’m not sure if I can do it at all. I’m there to spend high-density time with my friends. I’m there to feel something.

It’s about the activity itself. The doing is the point.

With an experiential attitude as default, then, a less process-oriented approach can be refreshing every once in a while. Why not sometimes make things wholly about the destination?

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We began our ride at Kaleigh’s house at the mouth of Boulder Canyon. We rode up the multi-use trail, passing other bikers, runners, walkers, climbers, and fisherman until we turned into Fourmile Canyon. We pedaled steadily up the cool, shady road, regrouping at the Salina Junction where the pavement turned to gravel and the grade turned steep. A few miles up the gravel, a dusty couch provided respite from the unrelenting climb. Hidden amongst the Sharpied screed of vulgarities read this wisdom:

THE SAME SUN THAT BURNS THE SKIN MOLDS THE WARRIOR

Repeating this mantra to each other and any strangers we passed, we continued up the hill. We were rewarded for our efforts with clear views of the sharp Indian Peaks composing the Continental Divide across the horizon punctuated with yellow stands of aspens below the treeline. Before long, houses materialized next to the road and along the hillsides. Riding into town, we stashed our bikes and joined the growing line of jerseys, helmets, and bike shorts waiting for coffees, Cokes, and cookies.

We drank and feasted, refilling our glucose and caffeine reserves before mounting up to complete our loop: a short climb to the summit of Sunshine Canyon Road followed by an easy downhill back to Boulder.

Payton organized the ride specifically because she wanted to go to the general store, and the store did not disappoint. It was fun, for a change, to go somewhere. Yet even in centering our focus on the destination we found ourselves taken by the journey. Despite trying to be shallow about it, the best part of the day was still the flow of the ride, seeing my smiling friends in the foreground of what could have been a Bierstadt painting, and the unexpected wisdom of the salacious couch.

I just received a text proposing another ride next weekend up Vail Pass if it doesn’t snow. This route sounds like a return the standard stuff: biking up a huge hill and biking back down it. No rewards up top. No cookies or lattes. Out-and-back.

Yvon Chouinard once wrote “If you focus on the process of climbing, you’ll end up on the summit,” but having something waiting for you at the top—creating a destination, if you will—undoubtedly helps a little bit. I’ve found a backpack full of summit Snickers usually does the trick.