The Outside Edge

Is Manitou Incline the Stairway to Hades? Tim Miller investigates

Text and photos by Tim Miller
http://timotheus.synthasite.com

“Is that the incline?” I asked my friend Matt Mcnulty as we rode in his Toyota Corolla up a steep mountainside toward the Pikes Peak Cog Railway station near historic Manitou Springs.

“I don’t think so,” he said, laughing.

“I don’t know what that is,” I said. “But it looks like a ladder going up a cliff. We’d die trying to hike it.”

Matt just smiled. We were headed to the Manitou Incline. He’d hiked the trail a couple times already in April of 2009. Knowing I love a good heart-exploding, lung-collapsing trek, he’d told me about the incline over the phone the day before.

“Let’s do it,” I’d told him. The next day, I drove from my home among the dusty mesas of Castle Rock to Matt’s home near Pikes Peak and its mountainous understudies. Soon after, Matt and I made our short trip to the incline in his little, gold Toyota.

Matt and I have a history of mad wilderness hikes. Each summer, we climb potentially lethal trails together. Matt is a big, pale, redheaded American of Irish decent. On any given Sunday, you may find him slowly, but steadily stepping up a Front Range incline as I hop around him like a giddy child, taking pictures.

As we approached the trailhead on foot, I realized that the cliffside ladder I’d seen in the car really was the Manitou Incline. Closer up, the incline looked like a stairway to heaven. Or maybe I’d gotten up and down mixed up again.

Droves of people lined the streets. Cars trolled parking lots for spaces. Many people had come to ride the cog railway up Pikes Peak for the best view in Colorado Springs. Others were hiking the famous Barr Trail, which snakes its way to the top of the Springs’ only fourteener as well. No sign marked the beginning of the incline, but Matt and I just followed other crazy outdoor enthusiasts to the infamous trailhead.

By infamous, I mean illegal. That’s right. You can’t climb the Manitou Incline without trespassing—technically. Consider this your disclaimer. However, you may have some trouble telling that to the hundreds of other hikers you see “trespassing” there every summer weekend. So far, Matt and I remain free despite this and other offenses.

Built 102 years ago to support a cable tram, the Manitou Incline became a tourist attraction in the early 1900s. The tram has since disappeared, but its railroad ties remain. Those ties happen to make a brutally steep stairway. Fitness lovers and hikers have been using these makeshift steps for years to satiate their sick obsessions. Despite posting a “No Trespassing” sign on the trail, the kind proprietors and employees of Pikes Peak Cog Railway—the organization which currently owns the property—have respectably decided to look the other way while packs of people trudge up the incline. As I write, the city of Colorado Springs is trying to acquire the trail in order to make it official.

Matt and I stepped onto the Manitou Incline trailhead, which sat across a parking lot from the city-sanctioned Barr Trail like a misbehaving stepchild. At first, the dirt path seemed similar to any number of trails we’d hiked in the area. Yucca, prickly pear cacti, scrub oak, and other scraggly bushes dotted the red dirtscape along the way. A few pines and budding aspens provided shade from the hot sun. Patches of snow on higher mountainsides were the only remaining signs of the past month’s lingering winter. Then we stepped onto the westward stairway to...Hades.

A mile of steps rose up to Mt. Manitou’s apex at a 45-degree angle. No switchbacks eased our rate of ascent. According to manitouincline.net, the incline rises 2,000 feet within the long mile up the mountainside. Undaunted, Matt and I began our journey to the top.

People were already sweating and huffing for air at 200 feet. Some of them seemed willing to quit right there. I understood their reasoning. My calves already burned. The arid atmosphere choked my lungs. However, I often rely on Matt’s face to gauge a hike’s difficulty. That’s right. I look at his mug. Matt’s pasty skin turns various shades of pink, red, and purple, depending on a trail’s difficulty. That day, at 200 feet, he’d already turned a shiny pink color. Nonetheless, we kept stepping.

When I reached 500 feet, I looked back and Matt was gone. He had his own pace, which was probably more effective than mine. I was drunk on thin air. The steps in some places had become tiny, unstable cliffs. My legs began to wobble like overburdened sticks, so I stopped to take some pictures before hopping back down the steps to find Matt. I’d selfishly left him to lug our pack full of water up the incline.

Reinvigorated from my brief descent, I took the water pack from Matt and headed up the mountain again. Matt’s face was now maroon-colored. Some people had plopped down to rest right on the steps. Others moved aside to gulp water or sweat in the shade. Taking pictures provided me with ample excuses to rest. I was almost sure I’d overestimated my stamina when a line of exhausted faces greeted me at the top of the incline.

No one wanted to go any further when they reached the ascent. They just plopped down, red-faced, and huffed for a while until they got their breath back. All those rosy mugs reminded me of Matt. Looking at them, I realized I’d neglected to leave my friend with any water.

“Oops,” I whispered. “Sorry man. I’ll get you some water quick.” Thankfully, no one heard me. As I started back down the steps, I heard a sound that reminded me of late-night college parties. Some exhausted hiker was puking his lunch all over the mountainside while his friends pointed and laughed. I asked his buddies, “Do you think he’d mind if I took a picture?” They just chortled some more. The guy vomiting didn’t seem too enthusiastic about posing for photos, so I took off down the incline to find Matt.

Two hundred feet down, I found my now purple-faced friend ambling up the steps. “Dude,” he said. “You forgot to leave me with water.” “I know,” I said. “You should have reminded me.” Figuring Matt could use some encouragement, I told him about the guy yakking at the top of the incline. The big lug just shrugged and stomped on.

Soon after, Matt and I reached the top. We rehydrated, caught our breath, and started off down the Barr Trail to get back to the parking lot. Awesome views of Colorado Springs and the huge, orange rocks that make up Garden of the Gods Park rewarded us for our hard work as we enjoyed an easy descent. Matt had slathered on sunscreen that day, so his face returned to its ordinary pale color.