The Numbers: Stats That Tell a Story

Lookout Mountain (Golden, Colorado)

• Length: if you ride to the Nature Center further up the mountain, it will become a 10km one-way ride; less so, ~4.6 miles (7.4 km) if you ride only to the lookout at Buffalo Bill’s Grave, the usual destination for most.
• Elevation gain: ~1,624 ft (495 m)
• Average gradient: ~5.3%
• Max gradient: ~8-8.9%
• Summit elevation: ~7550 ft (2,301 m)

Mont Ventoux (Bédoin side, Provence, France)

• Length: ~13.5 miles (21.5 km)
• Elevation gain: ~5,300 ft (1,610 m)
• Average gradient: ~7.5%
• Max gradient: ~11–12%
• Summit elevation: ~6,273 ft (1,912 m)

From the numbers alone, the contrast is clear. Lookout is short, accessible, and perfect for repeats. Ventoux, by comparison, is a relentless grind—twice as long, with gradients that feel punishing rather than playful.

Atmosphere: Local Playground vs. Mythic Arena

Lookout Mountain is the quintessential training climb. If you live in or around Denver, chances are you’ve done it dozens—if not hundreds—of times. It’s approachable, scenic, and offers just enough challenge to build fitness. The climb is woven into the cycling community’s culture: group rides, hill repeats, time trials. At the top, riders often loop back down for another go. It’s less about conquering and more about consistency.

Mont Ventoux, on the other hand, is a pilgrimage. Known as the “Giant of Provence,” it looms over the Rhône Valley, stark and bare at its summit, with lunar-like rock fields that seem almost extraterrestrial. Every serious cyclist dreams of it. Ventoux is where legends are made and sometimes broken—Tom Simpson’s tragic death in 1967 remains part of its lore. For amateurs, climbing it is not just exercise; it’s a rite of passage.

The Experience of the Ride

On Lookout Mountain, the gradients are friendly; the switchbacks are well-paced, and the view down into Golden and across to Denver makes the effort feel rewarding. You’ll encounter plenty of other cyclists, plus a fair share of cars and motorcycles, but the road is wide enough to manage. It’s the kind of climb where you can push hard for a PR one day and spin easy recovery the next.

On Ventoux, the ride is something else entirely. Starting from Bédoin, the first 6 km lull you into a rhythm before the forest section begins—a dark, suffocating stretch of near-constant 9–10% gradients for about 10 km. It’s a test of pacing and mental toughness. Emerging from the trees into the barren, white scree fields, you’re hit by the wind—the mountain’s namesake, Ventoux (“windy”). Gusts can turn the final 6 km into pure survival mode. The radio tower at the summit becomes a beacon you crawl toward.

Accessibility vs. Challenge

Lookout Mountain shines as a training climb precisely because it’s manageable. You can fit it into a weekday ride after work or combine it with other Front Range climbs for a big day out. It’s accessible year-round, weather permitting, and doesn’t demand months of preparation.

Ventoux, however, is a destination climb. You don’t casually ride Ventoux after work—it requires planning, fitness, and a bit of respect. For most cyclists, it’s part of a dream trip to Europe, often combined with rides through Provence’s vineyards and lavender fields. The climb itself demands endurance, strategy, and the ability to suffer gracefully.

Why Both Matter

Comparing Lookout Mountain to Mont Ventoux might seem unfair, but each plays an important role in cycling culture. Lookout represents the climbs we do most often—the steady friends that keep us fit and sharp. Ventoux represents the climbs we dream about—the ones that define our relationship with the sport, even if we only ride them once.

For Colorado locals, Lookout is where you sharpen the blade. For cyclists worldwide, Ventoux is where you test whether the blade can cut through the myth, the wind, and the suffering.

Final Thoughts

If you’re lucky enough to live near Denver, Lookout Mountain should be part of your weekly rotation. If you ever find yourself in Provence, Mont Ventoux should be on your bucket list. They’re not the same kind of climb, but together they remind us why we ride: for fitness, for challenge, for beauty, and sometimes to brush shoulders with legends.

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Over the years living in Colorado, I have climbed 23 fourteeners in Colorado, “almost” half of them (total is 53, by some accounts 58), and along with the 15 of the fourteeners in California, scattered across the state in three different mountain ranges (Cascades, White Mountains, and Sierra Nevada), these are the highest mountains in continental, aka contiguous, United States, meaning excluded Alaska.

Many years ago, I trekked as high as 20,000 feet (6,000 meters) in the Himalayas and felt just fine until about 18,000 feet. I bicycled across Bhutan, crossing several high passes, only a few years ago, and had no problem with altitude. A year ago in July, I tried to bicycle up Mt Evans (not my first time), a prominent 14,271-foot fourteener; that’s 4,350 meters high peak with a road right up to the summit. I made it up to 11,000 feet, feeling still good. Determined to ride higher and make it to the top, I felt the thin air from here on more and more. I took more breaks, gasping for air. At 12,000 feet, I felt miserable but pressed on higher to about 12,700 ft A.S.L. That was it. I couldn’t ride any higher; I just wasn’t getting enough oxygen. I had to turn around and started freewheeling back down.

Last time I climbed a fourteener (with effort) was eight years ago. Recently, I bicycled into thin air four times. The first ride was up to 3,153 m (10,500 ft). I struggled as in the previous four months I have been cycling at a little higher than sea level. But I made it. A few days later, I rode up to 2,535 m (8,350 ft), another ride in the Front Range of the Rockies west of Denver. I felt much better but experienced the thin air on steep gradients, 6% and higher. Next ride took me to 2,217 m (7,300 ft) and I felt just fine as I did on the most recent ride up to 1,977 m (6,500 ft), a little higher than the elevation at which I ride around Denver, the Mile-High City (1,600 m, 5,280 ft). I rode the last four rides with my son, who is of course much younger and lives here continuously; he had no problems with the altitude and thin air on those rides at all.

My conclusion based on my experience is: with age, you just can’t hope to deal with the elevation as you did when you were younger. Some of my older (50+) friends from Denver when they came up to visit me at the glacier often felt the altitude and had to drive back down after just a couple of hours in my place.

It’s said Hillary, the first to summit Everest and who climbed many peaks in the Himalayas and the Karakoram over 7,000 and 8,000 meters, could not go higher than 12,000 feet when he was 60 years old.

Why with age (and I am older than the professed age of Hillary was when he had encountered problems with altitude), one just simply cannot feel good in higher elevations? It’s just a fact of life, aside from the obvious reasons:

Reduced physical activity: As people age, they tend to be less physically active. This can lead to a decrease in cardiovascular fitness, which can make it more difficult to adapt to the lower oxygen levels at high altitudes. I am not as active as I was when younger but I still ride and workout almost daily.

Underlying health conditions: Older adults are more likely to have underlying health conditions, such as heart disease, lung disease, and diabetes. These conditions can make it more difficult to tolerate the stress of high altitude. I have no health issues of the kind.

Changes in the body’s composition. As people age, their bodies lose muscle mass and gain fat mass. This change in body composition can make it more difficult to transport oxygen throughout the body. I am hardly fat, but still likely in this category.

It is important to note that even younger age is not a guarantee that everyone will be less likely to experience altitude sickness. There are many young people who are very fit and healthy, but still develop altitude sickness. Some people are simply more susceptible to altitude sickness than others. But with age, you definitely lose the ability to adjust to thin air and still perform physically as well as you do at your age in lower elevations.

It is possible that Hillary’s inability to go higher than 12,000 feet at 60 was because of a combination of factors, including his age, his reduced physical activity, and any underlying health conditions he may have had. It is also possible that he simply developed altitude sickness on that occasion.

To deal with thin air, all you can do is ascend gradually and allow your body time to adjust to the lower oxygen levels at high altitudes.

Stay hydrated, drink plenty of fluids to help your body transport oxygen.

Get enough rest. Don’t push it if you feel your body needs time to recover from the stress of high altitude.

Bottom line, if you develop any of the symptoms of altitude sickness, such as headache, nausea, vomiting, shortness of breath, or dizziness, just turn around and descend to a lower altitude immediately.

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For hikers and trekkers, there’s no shortage of trails to explore in the area. The Trading Post Trail, which loops around the amphitheater, is a popular choice. It offers a moderate hike with excellent views of the rocks and Denver skyline. But if you’re up for a more extended adventure, consider tackling the nearby Matthews / Winters Park trails, which connect to Red Rocks Park. These trails wind through the rugged terrain, offering a mix of challenging ascents and breathtaking scenery.

Now, here’s a twist: Red Rocks Amphitheater isn’t just about physical activity; it’s also about nourishing the soul. Many visitors come here not to work up a sweat but to meditate and find solace amidst the towering red monoliths. The serene atmosphere and natural acoustics make it a perfect spot for those seeking a fresh adventure—an adventure within themselves.

In a nutshell, Red Rocks Amphitheater is not just a music venue; it’s a playground for adventurers and a place to discover the quieter, contemplative side of nature. Whether you’re sweating it out on the trails, road cycling, or simply soaking in the natural beauty, undeniably Red Rocks Park is one of the most scenic places in Colorado, and it’s especially beautiful from the saddle of a bike. The towering sandstone formations, lush green meadows, and sparkling creeks are all breathtaking.

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Two more days remain before 2020 will be history. The forecast says sunny with crisp temps of 45F. I may go for another ride this year, although last Friday and Saturday I did two fine rides on brilliant sunny days of 60F. I know they will be tough to beat over the next two days. On another hand, could at least one ride provide a suitable 2020 parting shot?

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