I joined the mile-high club over the weekend.

No, not THAT mile-high club, naughty reader.

No, I rode my bike in the rarefied air of a mile in elevation. Heck, I rode my bike in the rarefied air of TWO miles in elevation.

The occasion was the Iron Horse Bicycle Classic, an organized ride of more than 2,000 cyclists — racers (not me) and tourists — who rode, or attempted to ride, from Durango to Silverton, Colo., in the lovely San Juan Mountains.

The gory stats: The ride covers 49.1 miles and features 6,650 feet of total ascent over two 10,000-foot mountain passes. The average riding elevation is (gasp) 9,000 feet.

The first test is the 5.4-mile climb to Coal Bank Pass at an average grade of 6.5 percent, followed by a pedestrian 4.2-mile slog up the 4.9-percent-grade Molas Pass.

OK, they’re not the Alpe d’Huez, the famed beast of the Tour de France at 7.9 percent over 8.6 miles, but they’re no molehills, either.

The IHBC started when cyclist Tom Mayer raced his older brother Jim on the narrow-gauge train from Durango to Silverton. As an event beyond the two siblings, the Classic began in 1972 and evolved into something of a classic goal event for racers and recreational cyclists to test their legs and lungs. And the train is still the measuring stick; it takes about 3 1/2 hours for the locomotive to make it to Silverton.

When my father-in-law, who lives in nearby Pagosa Springs, mentioned it to me a couple of years ago, I said it was something I should try. Eventually. I was going to give it a go last year, but I didn’t register in time, and the tour sold out. Good thing, too, because a snowstorm on the eve of last year’s Iron Horse scuttled it.

When I signed up early this year, I devised a plan to train. There aren’t any comparable climbs around here, but I was going to make up for it with hill repeats up Palmyra Hill, the bump just north of Baldwin that most closely mimics the ups of the IHBC, even if it’s only about a 10th as long.

Unfortunately, I only made it up Palmyra — hmm, let’s see, umm, err — oh, yeah, exactly zero times. A big, fat goose egg.

In fact, I had gone on only a handful of rides of 50 or more miles all spring, so it was with more than a little trepidation — with a bunch of my “training” coming in the form of leisurely five-miles-at-a-time commutes across flat Lawrence — that I saddled up early Saturday morning with a couple thousand total strangers in the chilly air of Durango at a mere 6,500 feet.

Adding to my worries was the weather forecast: Though Durango was expected to get up to 65 or so, in Silverton the high was forecast for 43 degrees, with a chance for thunderstorms and — you guessed it — snow.

Back in February when I registered, I envisioned a postcard setting: blue sky, Georgia O’Keeffe clouds, purple mountain’s majesty — the kind of day that the atheists can’t explain.

As it turns out, the rain and snow held off, but it was overcast and chilly. At least there was no wind.

The ride itself was surprisingly easier than I feared.

It wasn’t easy, but for a flatlander with woefully few miles and far fewer real climbs in his legs, it was unhorrific. In fact, I felt a slight pang of disappointment as I neared the summit of the final peak that, following a short but screaming white-knuckled descent into Silverton, the ride was just about over.

For the record, I beat the train, but only because I started with the early birds an hour before the official start. Had I started with the rest of the pack, it would have been close.

Maybe next year, with a healthy dose of Palmyra, I’ll try again.

At least it sounds like a good idea now.