Sixth of July Ride

Every year in Salida, for a very long time by Mountain Bike History standards, a crowd has left town on bikes at roughly 4:30 AM on the Fourth of July to climb up to Monarch Pass. From there they ride the whole classic Crest route, then cross highway 285 to ride the Rainbow Trail across Salida's southern backdrop to Bear Creek and down back into town. In Salida it's known as The Fourth of July Ride, or occasionally The Big Lap.

I've done it with them, and it's a big day. But it's been a while. That last bit east of 285 isn't really "enjoyable". It's lots of hike-a-bike after a whole day of relatively fabulous riding. And I often have more pressing matters on the 4th. Last year it was manning the sales floor at Absolute. This year it was hanging with Kathy's family and doing all the 4th of July small-town stuff.

But the Crest is clear and almost dry, and it's a shame not to get up there as soon in the summer as it can be done. And furthermore, it's a shame not to take the dirt route up to Monarch and do it under one's own power, at least once every season.

So that's what I did on the Monday after the crowds went back to work; back to the Front Range, back to wherever they need to be on Monday morning. I had my own celebration of the Crest's season opener. A Sixth of July ride.

I left the house at 6:30 AM. Three hours and forty-five to Old Monarch, four hours to the Crest Trail sign-in just south of new Monarch. At 12:30 I was at the top of the Silver Creek Trail. Rolled up to the house back in Salida a little before 3:00.

Mostly uneventful day, other than wildflowers, singing robins in the woods near Monarch Park, gentle breezes, blue skies with puffy clouds sailing past, singletrack, and the music of Silver Creek as it grew in size and volume while I followed it down.

Saw a dozen others all day when I was back off the roads. Four hikers, 8 riders. Quite a nice day really.

Summer Divide

Who could this character be?


Is it possible that he had something to do with the mysterious death of Michael Jackson?!



Sunday I followed a very non-creative strategy and rode pretty much the same ride I did last Sunday. I threw in one little wrinkle though, when I got to Marshall Pass I turned right and rode up the Monarch Crest Trail for a few miles to see what the snow-in-the-woods situaton was like up there.

The Marshall Pass area is my favorite local hangout, and I really only see it for 5-6 months out of the year. All these scenes are woven into my life in Salida, and I do not really get tired of riding up there to look around.



So there was some snow in the woods. I stamped and dug riding channels through a couple of mushy piles until my shoes and gloves were wet just to encourage people to stay on the trail. Then found some very muddy sections that people have been riding around anyway--nothing I could really do about that.

I went to the point where I could take the above photo, then turned around and rode back to Marshall and on to the Silver Creek Trail. I found this season's first pair of kind-of-lost out of town riders. They were carrying the inaccurate and vague freebie map that comes with the local mountain bike guide.

That stupid map--it's just amazing that after years of being told that the Rainbow Trail does not start at the CDT/Colorado Trail intersection they simply cannot figure out how to get it right. I've showed them, I've marked notes on the map and explained...

People have trouble finding the CDT/CT south from Marshall (the forest service has had confusing signs there since I first saw the Crest in the early 90's--also cannot get it right) then continue looking for "The Rainbow Trail". They come to a sign that says "Silver Creek Trail", pull out their crappy maps and say, "Jeez, this can't be it." Some continue on south, others give up and turn around, but many figure it out because at least the map shows that the trail they are looking for goes along next to Silver Creek.

If only these folks would spend $11.95 for a map that makes it all clear, they would be able to just focus on the ride without spending time trying to figure out the route.

It's a rich summertime tradition, finding groups of confused riders and explaining the way to them. I sometimes get riders who argue with me. I tell them, "I live here, I've been riding this for decades" and still they argue that the map doesn't show it that way.

Ah well, life is always interesting. At least I (usually) get to meet and assist some nice people during my trips up to the Divide.

The Silver Creek Trail is a beautiful thing, then there's 11 miles of Rainbow. After decades of riding in this area, I do not get tired of that 1-2 punch.

Snow and blow-downs

Got up to Marshall Pass for another recon, having heard that rumors that people have been soldiering through the melting snow and blow-down trees to get to the top of the Silver Creek Trail and ride that down to the Rainbow.

I felt that I deserved to share that experience.

Climbing to Marshall this morning was a challenge and a privilege. Nice brisk headwind up 285 toward Poncha Pass had me working it on the pavement. Then I hit the dirt Marshall Pass Road which was beautiful, cool, and green. It rained almost all day yesterday--so it was also mashed-potato mushy. It was work, but so nice to be up there!

I got to Marshall at about 10:30 AM. I headed south on the CDT, following some fresh dirtbike tracks. The dirt bikers came out to meet me as I was heading in. They seemed to have figured out that they were not supposed to be on the non-motorized trail. I didn't really say anything to them, I was just in too good a mood to bitch at them. They were heading back to the trailhead anyway, no biggy.

I got up into the trees and started seeing drifts.


This was the biggest one--mandatory walkover pretty much.

But most were on the decline. And unlike my last exploration, they were soft and melty. I took some time to stamp rideable lines into some of the ones that people were still going around.

Then I started encountering blow-down trees on the trail. No problem, I have my hand saw. I just cleared them as I went. I expected to find something that I needed a chainsaw for, but it never materialized.


Antora, south of the headwaters of Silver Creek. Still plenty of snow on it...

I stopped at the spot overlooking Silver Creek that I call the lunch spot and chowed down on some phewd, a Pro Bar, which I enjoyed thanks to the courtesy of a passing rep at the bike shop who left a whole box of them for us shop flunkies. They are pretty tasty! But free food always tastes the best.

Silver Creek Trail was really in hard shape. Very rutted, very rocky. It did NOT winter over very well. It's a really pretty trail, but man is it routed badly in many places. It's just too susceptable to erosion. Gonna be a rough ride this summer.

I kept up the tree clearing, though it wasn't nearly as big a deal as it was back in '07 when I cleared it. Just one log was chainsaw-worthy, but I got creative with the hand saw and got it out.


Pretty big aspen log for my little folding hand saw (see the little darling perched on top of my nemesis?


Afterwords, nice and clear.

The Rainbow was fast and tacky thanks to yesterday's rain. I was tired though. I was out there a long time with all the stopping to cut trees and all the free-Pro-Bar eating.

Great day. Consider Marshall Pass to Silver Creek open folks. By next weekend it should be pretty much dry.

Colo Trail out and back to Salida

Took a ride from town up the start of the Vapor Trail to Blank's Cabin then north on the Colorado Trail. It's rugged and pretty, and has lots of good technical riding. And it's always snow-free early. When I got to Chalk Creek I got off the VT course and climbed up to the Mt Princeton Trailhead intending to go on to Cottonwood Creek then down to BV and home.


Canzo leaned on stump


Typical Colo Trail scene on east slope of Sawatch

As I got out onto the really nice section above BV, I started running low on calories, and thought the better of signing up for 35 miles of pavement to get home. My other option was to pick someplace to turn around, ride the CT back to the TH and then head back down to Chalk Creek and have only 20 pavement miles home. Sounds like a deal.


View from turnaround point

Late spring is heaven in the upper Arkansas Valley.

Up to the divide

I've been needing this. A long solo grind up to Marshall Pass, to look over to the Western Slope after getting to The Ridge under my own power. I've been honing in on bike fit setup on my new Hunter Cycles rigid "Adventure Touring" bike.




Close-up of the bike

Detail pictures of it clean can be seen at this prior post.

It took me a while to get there, well, like it always does. It's 3 hours if I'm really hittin' on all sixes. I've done it in 2:50, but I'm just not in that kind of fitness right now.

Also, I decided to set the Hunter up with thumbies, for the sake of total simplicity and reliability. But that kind of means 8-speed. I know, it can be done with 9-speed if you don't mind friction, which I don't. But I also like the durability of 8-speed.

Why does that have anything to do with how long it took me to get up there?

Gosh, it's kind of embarrassing...

I was between the gearing that I normally have going when I climb that. With 9-speed I get a 12-34 cluster (well, maybe 11-34, but that's not important). With the 34 I have mid-ring 1st gear 32:34, 2nd gear 32:30, 3rd gear 32:26. With a 12-32 block, it's 32:32, 32:28, 32:24.

I usually climb the first half in 3rd, 32:26 then slip to 2nd when the air gets thinner and my legs get tired. Well, 32:24 was too high and I couldn't really stay on top of it. But 32:28 was too low. Until I got tired and it was too high. I know, whining is unacceptable.

But I do know that with a load, 22:32 is going to be a not low enough granny. I wanted to use 20-30-42 chainrings on this bike, but I also wanted a Shimano crank with external bearings. I see Mr Whirly crankarms in my future.

I was really hoping to discover that the snow melt had happened enough that I could ride down the Silver Creek Trail. I headed south on the CDT to check it out.

Nope.





Those drifts were not soft. They were hard. I hit that section of trail at about 10 AM, and those suckers were hard as rock. Not much melt probably happened today. It just hasn't been getting very warm.

I went down the Poncha Creek road. Haven't done that kind of rock gauntlet on a fully rigid bike in many years. Ouch. How do you do that Ed? Pinch flatted, which was a good excuse to let my wrists and hands recover.

It's almost summer. Time for high country riding, snow or no.

Western Slope late spring weekend

Just some pictures from a rambling trip on a long weekend to Durango, Hermosa, Hartman:


Kathy riding the Colo Trail down from Gudy's in early evening


Me all blurry on the Hermosa Creek Trail




Horny Toad who crossed the Hermosa Creek Trail in front of us


Moist Hartman in early evening

New magic carpet

Last summer I decided that I wanted to get a bike especially for getting way out there, with enough stuff along to stay out there, at least overnight.

I met Rick Hunter when he was in Salida during his 2007 Great Divide Race attempt. He wrote a really cool article about the GDR (can't find it on the interweb, sorry). Of course he was riding one of his own classic hand-built bikes.

I decided I wanted one, so I asked him to make me a "flat-bar dirt tourer".

Customs take a while. That's just how it goes. The better the builder, the longer the waitlist normally. But this spring, I got my frame and fork. I have a stem coming whenever I decided exactly the length and rise I want. Here you go, pictures from when it was still sleek and clean:




Trademark Hunter Cycles seatstays


Trademark Hunter Cycles Supercrown fork


Standard side shot (note the angus bull visible through the frame)


I went for the new Chris King BB


Closeup of BB

Utah Fix

So, my blog has started to be a perfect example of what Team Dicky refers to in this post. Some pretty funny examples of lame blog posts. Like the "Sorry it's been so long since I've posted" post. That sounds like me! Except for the part about the iMac.

OK, enought lament for how lame my blog has become. On to a bit of actual content. Utah!

My sweetie and I took off Saturday, made it into the Mineral Bottom/Mineral Canyon junction by evening. The next morning we rode out toward Candlestick camp.

So nice to be back in the tall, vertical country. Soothing. Puny, small humans among big land.

We did some riding and some hiking. Lots of long views out over the maze of canyons and mesas with the Henry Mountains in the background.


Grandview Point on Monday.


Green River Overlook just after sunrise Tuesday.


Me happily riding the Sovereign Trail later on Tuesday.


Looking up from a canyon bottom on a hike Wednesday morning before driving back to Salida.

Nice trip. Perfect weather. Wish we'd had longer.

On and Beyond

I rode into the Rourke Ranch Site, expecting to find a closed and locked gate, even though the topo showed a road continuing upriver. There was a gate, but it was open wide. So I rode on through. I expected to find in short order a fence, probably announcing that the Piñon Canyon Maneuver Site did not welcome my exploration.

But this did not happen. After winding along in the canyon bottom, the road I was riding curved right and headed up into a little side canyon:


Hmm, purty. Might as well keep going--you never know until you know.

I climbed a windey little ranch road until I reached the top, where the road sloped back down toward the river again:



My heart began to pound, just slightly. Oh my goodness. Look at this. And no locked gates, no private property signs. Goody goody goody! So obviously I continued.









It just got prettier and prettier. And no locked gates, no trespassing or private property signs, no evidence that I was on the maneuver site.

Oh dear, the time. It started getting close to 3 PM. I left the tPOD at around 8:30. Sure, I had stopped to take many pictures and check out many features. But still, I was out there. And the cold wind was still blowing good and hard. And I had been traveling mostly with that damned wind all day. I know the pictures make it look like it was a nice day, but I doubt it ever got much warmer than low 40s, and the warmest part of the day was over. I had a good light with me, and lots of clothes and food. But it just did not seem to be a great idea to get farther on out there. So I reluctantly turned around.

This is how far I got according to my gps (the little yellow diamond is the ranch site, I continued south and west from there):



Check out that little place just across the river from where I stopped; Parmeña Gap. That could be the way to get across the river, then up into the Chacuaco Canyon, a major side canyon that goes and goes south. And the OV Mesa, which is a beautiful red thing. Topo maps show a dotted jeep road skirting all the way around, just above the sheer red rock. And you can see that road with Google Earth. 

But the day was cooked. It was time to get going if I was going to get back to the tPOD by dark.

On the way back, just as I approached the Rourke Ranch, there in the middle of the road appeared a very large, brown bull. His neck was twice the thickness of his head. When I saw him he was probably a little over 100 feet from me. His head was low. He was making a very odd low kind of moaning moo. Total and complete eye contact. I stopped. We stared at each other for several tense beats.

Perhaps this guy was just feeling a little lonely, and wondered if he and I might make some beautiful music together. But I'm thinking his motives were a bit darker. I think he wanted to stomp on me like I might stomp on a grape. Squish.

Finally I moved about two steps to my right. This prompted him to begin walking toward me.



There was a long shed, what would around here be known as a "loafing shed", open on one side. An old dilapidated corral was on the side of it not visible in the picture. The bull was in the road to the right of the shed (as pictured). I needed to get past him, but did not want to get squished. So I did the bravest thing I could think of: I picked up my bike and ran away, stepping through a gap in the corral fence, jumping on my bike and riding quickly through the corral where I was hidden from his view, then I rode around the far end and headed for the road as fast as I could. I looked back and saw that he had followed me around the other end of the shed. When I appeared at the other end, he looked back at me. Thank goodness for adrenaline. I used it to come up with some power and I headed for safety as quickly as I could pedal to it.

Yes, I lived. I did not get stomped. My large brain triumphed. Sweet.

I emerged from the Withers Canyon Trailhead at about 5 PM. I was greeted by wind. Oh my God cold friggin' wind. I put more clothing on and prepared myself for a slog upwind and uphill to where I had left the tPOD.

To summarize the next two hours: it sucked. I was tired, the cold wind roared in my ears, and I had nothing to do but deal.

It was a big day, big adventure, great exploring. My first 9+ hour day of the season, first long day on the Voodoo. Gotta go back and figure out the rest of that thing...

Up the Canyon

The Picketwire Canyon has three levels of history. Some of the most distinct dinosaur tracks in Colorado (paleohistory), the history of indigenous Americans in the form of pictographs, and 19th Century western history in the form of homestead ruins, stagecoach stations, telegraph wires, a cemetery, and an historic ranch site. Wouldn't it be a shame to let the Army bomb it to rubble?

The current Piñon Canyon Maneuver Site is north of the Picketwire Canyon Rec Area, and stays north of the river, stretching west for some 20-30 miles. It's currently 235,000 acres. One map of the proposed expansion would make the site 415,000 acres.

The Commanche National Grasslands publish this map showing their managed rec area and the maneuver site to the north:



As I explored for epic loops, I assumed that anywhere north of the river, I might encounter fences marked no trespassing by order of the government. So I was watching for places where I could get across the river and head south. Down there it looks like this:



So as I headed on upstream to check out some of the other cool things, I kept my eyes peeled for a way to ford the river and go south into some of the side canyons up there.

Bury me not on the lone Prairee...

Plant me in this nifty canyon instead.



The dinosaur tracks are pretty cool. You can see where individual animals walked across some fudgy gumbo clay which then got dried and covered, and turned into stone:


Apatosaurus Tracks


Allosaurus Track

The rock formation in which these tracks are laid just crumbles away at the downstream end:



The Army could help that process along with just a couple bunker busters. Kewl.

As I head upriver, I find no promising places to ford the river and head south into the maze of canyons. I check out a few faint doubletracks, but there isn't anything I'd follow into the unknown.

So I keep going on the road toward the historic Rourke Ranche site.


Sweeping view of the upper canyon, the ranch site visible in the distance.


Rourke Ranch Site.

From here, by the Commanche National Grassland map (above) it looks like I'm at the end of the line.

Exploration Begins

I had elected to set up at the Vogel Canyon picnic area. It's OK to stay overnight there, and it has a dry toilet. Vogel is a small side canyon of the Picketwire Canyon. I've visited it before, so I knew that there were some short trail loops and ancient pictographs. This trip, I was hoping to find a way to get directly down into the Picketwire Canyon so that I could ride up into the part of the canyon that has other attractions such as dinosaur tracks, stage line stations, and a historic ranchsite. The normal way to access that part of the canyon, upstream about 10 miles, is through the Withers Canyon Trailhead. See the map below:



The red arrows show the way I was hoping to find. The green shows the normal way.



Vogel Canyon was pretty in the morning light. I dropped in there and checked out the pictographs.


Bunny rabbit?


Clearly rattlesnake. Note the dumbass graffiti in chalk below.

After I stopped to check out the cool evidence of early residents, I headed down canyon to see if there was a way through. I quickly encountered a barbed wire fence. I decided that I wasn't going to start crawling over fences this early in the day. I decided to ride the normal way down to the Withers Canyon Trailhead. This involved taking to a wide open prairie dirt road. The cold crosswind worked me over for 7 or 8 miles, then became a tailwind as I headed south on Otero County Road 25.

I reached the trailhead a little over 2 hours after I left the tPOD. I dropped down into Withers Canyon then rode into the Picketwire Canyon:


The old stage road in the Picketwire Canyon. Note the telegraph pole to the right of the roadbed.

Breaking the Wind

I left Saturday after working with the trail crew, mostly busting up rocks that the machine couldn't pry out of the ground.



It was my fourth day in a row of doing trail work. My back was tired, and I was ready to get my legs a little tired for some balance.

There was supposed to be a spring blizzard moving into Colorado Saturday. But as is often the case, the blizzard that the NWS predicted turned out to be wind. I drove east from Salida, hit some intermittent snow squalls as I emerged from the canyon of the Arkansas into Canon City. Then as I headed out onto the prairie toward Pueblo the snow cleared off and I drove into the wind. It was roaring out of the north, rocking my truck and camper as I drove east on highway 50.

Out east between Pueblo and La Junta I saw a pair of Kestrels, one sitting on barbed wire the other on a rigid weed stem. They were leaning their bullet-shaped bodies straight into the wind--horizontal. They looked like something out of a cartoon.

At La Junta I turned south onto Colorado Highway 109. In about 10 miles of bleak short grass prairie I came into sight of "The Cedars", the canons of the Purgatoire.

I parked the tPOD at the picnic area at Vogel Canyon. I popped it up, made some dinner, then read a book for a short while before I got sleepy. During the night, the cold and the rocking wind woke me up. I did not sleep well, and woke up thinking I had just picked a bad weekend for this adventure. Maybe I should just call it, eat some breakfast and head back to Salida. The relentless wind made that seem smart.

But then I came to my senses and decided to Harden the Fahk Up and get on with it.

Adventure Weekend

There's a place east and south of Pueblo, CO that's dear to my heart. My dad grew up in Rocky Ford, CO, and his boy scout troop used to go camping "out south in The Cedars". This area is the Purgatoire River Canyon. The Purgatoire flows out of the Sangre de Cristo Range, through Trinidad near the New Mexico border, then diagonals to the southeast to join the Arkansas in Las Animas, CO. As my dad's uncle told me once "The old cowboys around here couldn't say Purgatoire so they called it the Picketwire."

The river is locally known as the Picketwire, and there's a Commanche National Grassland rec area with a really cool set of dinosaur tracks in there. There is also a vast network of red rock canyons, very similar to what you see in Utah's Canyonlands NP, between Trinidad and CO Highway 109. And almost nobody but residents of Otero and Las Animas counties know about it.



The Army, Fort Carson in Colorado Springs specifically, has had a maneuver site where they practice war-making north of the river (the Piñon Canyon Maneuver Site, aka PCMS). The Army has plans to radically expand the site to suck in some absolutely beautiful and remote canyon country. The plan would also displace many, many multi-generation ranch families, acquiring their ranches by eminent domain. See this site:

http://pinoncanyon.com/

I don't have enough time this morning to fully tell my story, but I made a scouting trip down there to possibly find a huge loop that would allow for many memories to be made and pictures to be taken. And maybe raise some awareness about what we may quietly lose. 

More will be coming, but here's a teaser:

No Foolin' - diesel-powered trail building!

My group, Salida Mountain Trails has been working with the City of Salida and the BLM to build a trail network for several years. The City has been very cooperative over the years. But this year they've been more than helpful--they've been buying stuff that we can use and hiring crews to help us build trail.

Here's Andrew running a brand-new Bobcat 418 mini-excavator in a driving snowstorm:

And here's a Southwest Conservation Corps crew starting a month-and-half stint of full time work on behalf of the City of Salida:



It's an exciting time here in Salida. We are going to make the most possible out of the contribution that the City is making. And it starts today, April 1. No foolin'.

Rubble of Initiation

Took the new sled down Lost Trail for the 2nd time to make sure she understands Salida rubble riding. This is just above the funnel full of baby heads, the crux move in the descent of Lost Trail:





Ritual of Initiation. For Salida, that translates to chaotic descents down unpredictable chutes full of loose rock and gravel.

Yip yip yip

My new Voodoo makes me feel like these guys feel about their radio:

Dialed

This morning I had a pro Specialized Body Geometry 3D fit on my new Voodoo at Absolute Bikes, then in the afternoon I rode the 2,000 foot climb up Ute Trail and descended Cottonwood. Mmm. Good.

I've got shock pressures dead on. Still a little tuning and tinkering to do on the Rock Shox Monarch rear shock--it's a new gadget for me. But for the most part all is well.

This bike's handling is growing on me.

First layer of dust

My Sweetie and I packed up bikes and headed to Pueblo to ride the Pueblo Lake State Park trails.



So, how does she ride?

Nice. A very different bike from full suspension 29ers that I have ridden before. The Joe-tuned geometry is evident. She's a little steeper up front than most full-suspension 29ers I'm used to, and there is a corresponding quickness that's unusual for a 29er. Longer and heavier than the Dambala (has to be--it's a fully), but the steering feels quicker.



Every new bike takes a while to get used to. I'm looking way forward to getting used to this one.

New Sled takes shape!

Brown Santa showed up at Absolute Bikes with my new VooDoo Canzo29 frame on Friday. There was plenty going on and not enough mechanics doing it, so the frame got hung from a hook waiting for its chance to get built up.

On Saturday night, Banks called me offering to meet me at the shop at 8 AM Sunday, 2 hours before time to open up so that we could slap the parts on the new sled. I wasn't sure we could get done in two hours, but it sure wasn't an offer I was going to turn down.


bare frame, faced and chased and ready for the next thing.

This will be my first bike with a new flavor of King Bling:


Chris King bottom bracket? Oh yes.

There's nothing like an experienced bike mechanic doing what he does. Scot was fast. At 8:00 AM he was picking his facing tool out of the drawer. At 8:55 it was all done but for checking out shock pressure and setting my saddle height. Damn.

Banks finishing up.

Ready for the maiden voyage!

Run Through Time

Saturday I helped out running an Aid Station for the 2009 Run Through Time dirty Marathon. The event is the creation of Jon and Ricky, the husband-wife team that have run the Vapor Trail 125's 1st Aid Station since the first year, 2005. So it's an honor to help out with their event.


Runners like chips, gatoraide and coke!

I rode up to the aid station at near 9,000 feet on my VooDoo Dambala SS. When the show was over I was free to make my first run down Cottonwood of the season.


Spring isn't here yet, but it's hard to tell from where I stand.

New Ride, Baby!

Yep, you heard right. I've joined the 2009 VooDoo Grass Roots Team. I'll be adding a VooDoo Canzo29 to my stable, making me a 2 VooDoo family. 1 Dambala SS + 1 Canzo29 = 2 VooDoo.

Photos of the new sled will be available soon pending its arrival.

Thanks VooDoo. Honored to be there. It's easy to love rolling those Joe-designed VooDoos!

Not so much blogging lately

It's been 4 weeks since my last confession.

Some would say that a blog is dead once there is no post for a month. Yeah, well. Um. Just haven't been posting anything. 

I did a Leadville winter night race at 11,000 feet near Tennessee Pass. I rode in a big, silly century ride in SoCal, rollin' fast. 6 hours 10 minutes including stops. Never blogged those things. Just didn't. Shoulda coulda woulda.

I don't want to declare this blog dead, it's just in a winter dormancy. It'll be back. Promise.

Sweetwater Trail

Went to ride Sweetwater, one of Mark Flint's latest contributions to Tucson singletrack art. Fast, smooth, beautiful.

Jake, my host for this last bit of Tucson visit, railing it at Sweetwater

Don't (bother) Try(ing) This at Home

My shoe experiment (http://teamvelveeta.tom-purvis.com/2008/12/eye-talian-loafers.html) has officially proven to be futile. As you can see, after the APC I have one toe patch and one heal patch left.



The shoe goo is sticking to the shoe for the most part, but the tire patches peeled off the shoe goo rather quickly really.

Oh well, it was a good idea anyway.

Antelope Peak Challenge

Scott and Chad's Antelope Peak Challenge was a great ride. The day was the best since I've been here in AZ--sunny and upper 60's for the most part. A bit of wind in the afternoon, but no big.

I was running late and frenetic when everyone gathered at the intersection of hwy 77 and the Willow Springs Road. I was able to roll with the group at 7:15 AM, but without any time to spare.

The first 8 miles or so were neutral, so the group was all together until we reached Oracle at around 8 AM.

The first singletrack was the piece of Arizona Trail that goes from the Tiger Mine Road to the beginning of the dreaded gasline section. It's rarely used, and often challenging to follow. But it's a sweet, technical bit of trail.




One of these riders is Rob Brinkeroff--he and I played leapfrog all day until he rode past me while I was removing a hedgehog cactus thorn from my foot near the base of Antelope Peak.

The gasline was tough, but it just did not feel as long as it did the time I rode this loop solo and the other direction two years ago. The gasline bit ends in bloodsucker wash, where we rode devilish beach sand for what seemed like quite a while. Probably only 15 minutes or so. Then there was a brief bit of doubletrack over from Bloodsucker to Putnam Wash, where we rode through this old abandoned ranch site:



Then it was a short trip upstream in Putnam Wash.


This is a view south across Putnam Wash, where the AZ Trail again becomes singletrack.

This was the beginning of a section of singletrack that was fiercely overgrown because of its remoteness. The white-spine acacia, cat's claw, palo verde and other various mean and spiny flora drew plenty o' blood on my shins. Oddly, my left leg got ripped really good, but the right was mostly OK. Go figger.


Antelope Peak, seeming close but still nearly an hour away.

Just before reaching the doubletrack at the northern foot of Antelope Peak, I lost the trail completely. Tire tracks were radiating away from the small wash where the trail disappeared. I was wandering through the cactus and brush, looking at my GPS and trying to figure out which direction to go when my foot bumped a hedgehog cactus. Of course, a spine went into the side of my foot. The end was barely protruding from the shoe, so I had to sit down and take off the shoe to yank it. It's always a nice relief to get those little guys out--you really notice it when they're shoved up into your flesh.

After that little ordeal I was just feeling a bit negative about tramping through the brush, so I eliminated the idea of climbing Antelope Peak to get the 75 minute preem and the photo op. I had been planning to go up there. Kind of wish I had done it now.

Instead I got out to the Freeman Road, facing a bit of a headwind as I headed west to the intersection with the Willow Springs Road. Lee Blackwell and another dude, I think probably Veeze Price Andy Stevenson, caught me and we rode together for a while. I was feeling it. They rode off ahead around the intersection with Willow Springs. Not long after, I caught them as Lee stopped to eat. Andy Veeze came with me to ride the singletrack into the Old Pueblo venue since he had not successfully loaded the course into his GPS and he needed a guide to get him there. So we rode together for most of an hour.

When we got the the venue, he wanted to go straight to the finish, but I was intent on doing the bonus lap. So I showed him to "His" and told him how to complete the course. Then I turned back west to ride the lap. I stopped by at June and Phil's camp to see if Phil knew how things were going for June. He had not heard from her, so I went on and promised to call when I finished.

The worst part of the bonus was "the Bitches". It's another bit of gasline, the least enjoyable part of the 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo course. I started riding the course at about 4:10, and rolled off the course under the Willow Springs Arch at 4:59.



Back to the finish at 5:30 on the mark. Of the 11 men who finished, I was #11 (woo hoo!)

Official results are here: http://rockyroad5050.wordpress.com/aes-results/

Good day. Thanks Scott and Chad!

blinky blinky

Junebug took me for an exploring ride. We wanted to review the route (using Painter Boy) that the Antelope Peak Challenge will take to make a more direct route from the Willow Springs road to the 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo venue. Then we rolled up to "the blinky light", a radio tower high above the desert, to ride down to the venue on singletrack. Stans to Stickman to Painter Boy to Bones.


Outbound on Painter Boy

It was sprinkling when we embarked. The weather stayed off in other places for the most part until about an hour in. We were stopped to work on June's dragging rear brake rotor when it began to rain a bit harder. We pulled out rain jackets and put them on. Almost immediately the rain slowed, within 5 minutes it stopped.

My theory is that the rain gods look down. They throw some rain at you, then watch to see how you react. If you're prepared and not terribly traumatized, things tend to go better. If you're wearing a hawaiian shirt, baggies with a single clif bar in the pocket, a single water bottle and no pack, you're going to see serious weather.

Painter Boy was pretty easy to follow, but the connecting "trail" to Willow Springs was mostly cow path. We made two meanders off the trail in less than half a mile, but then found the intersection of the service road up to the blinky light and Willow Springs Road.

The climb up to the blinky was not bad, at least by Colorado standards. From up top the view was splendid.





Then it was time to start riding the ridge on a faint trail known as Stans. It sometimes was hidden by overgrown bunch grass, marked by tiny cairns and sticks for the most part. But it was followable. Sometimes I had to slow to a near trackstand and look around, but only a few times had to stop to hunt around ahead for a cairn or visible bit of trail. It reminded me of the Blue Dot trail above Moab.

The views were spectacular.





Great ride. Hoping that the weekend will be dryer, especially Sunday.

Colossal Cave to Rincon Creek on the AZT

Overnight some weather moved in. The NWS was saying that we had 10 days of clear warm weather. What gives?

So the rain pattered on the roof of the tPOD all night, but it was only moist. No puddles, just warm and humid and sprinkles on and off.


Things were looking a little iffy, but pretty. Love that Sonoran Desert!

The sprinkles became constant and not intermittent. But I wanted to make it to Rincon Creek. So I rocked it, brushing white spine acacia on and off. But it was fun. I made the Creek as the rain began to fall in earnest.



Got back to the tPOD just as the sky opened up. It really rained as I made lunch. Now I know, we're supposed to be in for some crappy weather through tomorrow. Clearing Saturday in plenty of time for the Antelope Peak Challenge on Sunday. Word!

Cienega AZT

When I first showed up on a vision quest in the Tucson area a little over 2 years ago, the first place I lit was the Colossal Cave Mountain Park east of Tucson near the town of Vail, AZ. I discovered a section of the AZT there that really made me feel welcome. And a great place to camp.

I wound up joining a volunteer crew to work on this section of the AZT on two different Saturdays during that January of 2007. So I have a special attachment to this bit of the trail.

I went back to CCMP as soon as I got here. It was not even noon, so I decided I might as well get on my way out to see one of my favorite pieces of singletrack anywhere.


This is the bit I had the great pleasure to work on.

I headed south, out of Colossal Cave toward I-10 and the Santa Rita Mountains beyond.


This is one of the two bikes I brought on this trip, courtesy of Shawn. It's his beautiful custom Coconino. Let me tell you, Steve knows how to make them corner!


This is a little bit of twisty trail just north of the 3 Bridges.

I wound up riding more than 10 miles south after crossing the interstate. They've been working hard on this linkage to the Santa Ritas, and it is nice. There were fresh tool marks on much of it.

Nice 36 mile out-and-back.

SE AZ at dawn

Getting back to SE Arizona is always a treat for me. I rolled south from Salida on Tuesday, getting do Deming, NM by about 10 PM. Here's a tip for those of you who like to Wal-Mart camp. The Walmart in Deming sits really close to I-10 and really close to the railroad tracks. It sounded like I was parked in the median of the interstate--until trains came by mind you. Then I could barely hear the big rigs howling by for the train whistle. Not. Much. Sleep.

I left early (naturally) and was rolling west on I-10 before 6 AM. The sun rose behind me at around 7.



Just as the sun was clearing the horizon, a quick coyote ran across the highway a couple hundred feet in front of me. Good omen.

CB Nordic in Sunshine

Kathy's folks treated us to a really nice weekend in Crested Butte for nordic skiing. Could not have asked for better weather.






I'm not [intentionally] dancing here, I'm trying to not fall over.

A Day at the Beach

It's been so much skinny-tire for me--mostly on the rollers. I needed a taste of singletrack, and a chance to shake out my ride for the Antelope Peak Challenge, a Coconino hardtail I'm borrowing from Shawn. It is a sweet ride; cruiser-style with a curved top tube, S-bend seat stays, Fox fork, crossmax 29, full XTR--pretty much full bling. I'll get photos of this blue beauty on here ASAP.

It is the perfect ride for Pueblo Lake State Park. Head tube angle is just a touch steeper than I'm accustomed to and it really likes to turn. Just think a turn and it goes there. Nice.

Gary from Del Norte and his friend Andy needed some dirt too, so we cruised over there together. Nice to ride outside and not risk frostbite.


Gary rockin' it.



Andy rockin' it.


Gary and Andy under blue skies with Pikes Peak in the background.

Good day, worth the drive.

wassup?

So OK, it's been a while since I've posted. Just, uh, not much going on. I already posted a picture of myself on the rollers. I could get more of those! Also posted a pic of my ride through a winter-ish landscape. More of that has been happening. Also work is progressing on Salida Mountain Trails issues.

But my bikey news for right now is that I'm planning to roll out to Oracle, AZ for the Antelope Peak Challenge. 

Arizona, here I come!

Rollers ahoy!

It's harder to start this than it is once you're going. I decided that the time had come, especially since we've got rocky mountain winds blowing today. Cold, gusty. Did I say cold?



Yeah, yeah, yeah; I know I should be skiing.

Solstice tomorrow, 5:04 AM MST. First day of winter. The days start getting longer. And that's a good thing.

It isn't even that fun, is it?

Last summer when the South Central Racing Omnium was going on we had a local character come into the bike shop to try to convince us to let him ride a Specialized Roubaix from our rental fleet in the road race in exchange for the privelege of having him wear our shop jersey. He was also hoping for us to foot his $50 entry. He would have thrown down for sure, but we don't really often sponsor riders who show up half an hour before the race starts looking for a ride...

Anyway, I was showing him that the Roubaix we had in rental was a nearly $3,000 bike, and we had a new one just like it in his size right there on the showroom floor. He said without hesitation and in complete honesty, "Three thousand dollars for a road bike? It isn't even that fun, is it?"

That's what was going through my mind as I pedaled out of town to get some damned riding in, facing a brutally cold headwind, periodically slowing to near walking speed as I rolled over crunchy ice where the wind was blowing snow across the road.



You have to really want it. Like, really a lot.



I got my rollers out of the garage the other day. I look at them every once in a while, but I haven't gotten desperate enough yet to wobble my way into the beginning of a trip to nowhere.



But you know, the day is coming when I will be desperate enough.

The only 2009 races I intend to pay for...

...are those races that will be part of the Leadville Winter Mountainbike Series.

Eye-talian Loafers

Endurance mountain bikers/mtb racers and Sidis go together like cats and cat litter. Sure, there are some paddle-footed riders who hate them for their narrowness, and there are always going to be fans of other shoes, like Lakes and Carnacs. But you see battered black Sidis on a lot of riders out there.

I got a pair of Sidi Techno Fires back in the mid-90s and I was hooked. You remember those? Black uppers and orange soles, fishline loop closure? I rode the hell out of those, stringing in new fishline from my fly reel after one of the loops broke. Then I got my first pair of Dominators. Sidis are nice and stiff, and they last and last.

But Sidis have a dark side (get it? They're black! Get it?!). Sidis are treacherously slippery and quite uncomfortable when it comes time for technical hike-a-bike. During my recent trip down to the Copper Canyon brother Phil always called them Italian Loafers, especially after somebody stumbled or fell trying to walk across bare rock on the silly, hard-bottomed little things.

I have two pairs of Dominator 5's. I had one pair that I got in 2000 or so. In the run-up to my first Leadville in Summer of 2005 I got a 2nd pair because #1 was looking really beat. Since then I've been pretty much wearing the old #1's any time it looked like things would be even remotely tough, to save "the good pair" for posterity. Hell, I pretty much wore the #1's unless I couldn't find them.

So the upshot is, they are beat. The soles are worn down to nubbins. The uppers where they join with the sole, especially near the toes, are peeled back and about to breach. I took them to an outfit that resoles hiking boots and they offered to patch things up for $75-80. Well hell, that's a third of a new pair. At retail no less. So it was obvious what I must do. DIY, baby.


Raw Materials: donor Sidis, old tire, Shoe Goo, power drill, self-tapping screws, cute little stuffed doggy (disclosure: the shoes pictured are my #2's. I had already started working on the #1's when it occurred to me that I should take a picture, so I used the ones I hadn't messed with. Yet.)

At first I considered using something like plastic milk jug material to cover over the toe patches. But then my brain kicked in. Why not use something that isn't slippery? Eureka!

So I dug out an old worn out wire-bead WTB Motoraptor (God rest its soul. Sole? Soul?). I cut a toe patch. I glued it on. I duct-taped the hell out of it so that it would stick where I had placed it. 

Tough Sidis in their duct-tape cocoons, ready to emerge as tough Sidi butterflies

Then I looked at the sole (soul?) of the shoe and decided, if a little bit of mountain bike tire material is good, more is better. Slather on the shoe goo, cut a piece of tire, stick it on there, see if there's someplace where a screw can be driven in to keep it in place. Tape it up. Leave it to cure. Lather, rinse, repeat.

The final product, tough and walkable (I hope anyway)

I'll report at some point after I've had an epic day or two with lots of strolling through the rubble that I love to carry my bike over.

Winter's Icey Kiss

OK, we've finally been touched with real snow.



I'd like to say I'm pleased. I guess I am for some reasons. The mile or so of new singletrack that's been built by Salida Mountain Trails this year needed some moisture really badly to help bed it in. And it's just plain been really dry here, which is good for riding (to a point) but hard on the land. And then there's the good of Monarch to think about. I guess they need to stay in business. And since they don't make any snow they kind of need to have it fall out of the sky.

But I'm bummed about how much our riding will now be limited. There are a few trails that will stay open, and of course tarmac will be open again right away. And then there are rollers.

(sigh)

Trailbuild

Yesterday we got out there and broke ground on a new trail section. We had a publicisized volunteer day and got great turnout. As a result, 1000 ft of new trail is on the ground near Salida.

Nice!


See Tom pretend to work

Still on dirt

Another clear dry day. Another ride. Thank goodness.


quite chilly, but still dry and mighty

PEE-ebluh State Park

On Black Friday, even though we would have rather had a chance to trample a Wal-Mart employee, Kathy and I headed over to Pueblo (pronounced PEE-ebluh) State Park from Wetmore to ride bikes. 

A cold front moved through on Thursday night, so Friday was chilly. It was clear at the foot of the Wet Mountains, but we drove under a thick cloud bank as we approached Pueblo Reservoir and the state park. The air was cold and moist as we got started, and the sun was completely obscured by thick clouds, but we bundled up to see if it would be workable as long as we were there.

Once we got moving the day's weather proved to be fine for riding for the most part. The light was completely flat, which made photos pretty interesting.


Me on the Outer Limits Trail under a gray sky

Outer Limits is a really cool trail. It traces along the rim of the bluff over Pueblo Res. Lots of flowy singletrack with little dips. Good fun, and good scenery.


Kathy on the Voodoo Trail

We started riding the Voodoo Trail, but it was getting a little late and toes were getting cold, so we cut that short and headed back.


The Wet Mountains as seen from the east

As we headed back west toward Wetmore we drove under mostly clear skies. 

The day was good, and it ended quite well with a surprisingly tastey dinner at Merlino's Belvedere in Cañon City. From the billboards I've been seeing as I passed through the area for the last 20 years I just assumed that this place would have to be totally campy. But the people are completely genuine in their desire to please, and damnit, the food is good. I recommend it if you like real Italian Food. And especially if you like having Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin woo you quietly from hidden speakers as you chow down on homemade pasta.

Evening with rocks and sunset

In the cooler part of each year, we Salidans ride the rocky piñon/juniper country that rings the town. Lost Trail is my favorite of these rides. It's a flawed trail, to be sure. Lots of fall-line stuff, some ridiculously technical. Ruts full of baby heads, some flowing open trail full of baby heads, sandy ruts--you know, normal Salida riding.

This evening I got up there just at sunset. Looking for that pink light. Got a little bit of it.


Rocky upper part of Lost Trail

The sky has been full of high cirrus all day. A weather thing is supposed to be here for Dead Bird Day®. This is the kind of sky we get before a weather blip. But those high clouds do make for some nice sunsets.


Sunset as seen from the middle of Lost Trail

The lower part of the trail has some really nice smooth bits. So out of character for trails near Salida.


The lower, smoother part of Lost Trail, my Voodoo taking a breather as the light turns low

Back to our regularly scheduled Indian Summer

Yep, it was just the one day. The front moved through over night, and we had a chilly and clear morning. Down below 20, but up to the 40's by 9 AM. I'm going to be in Denver with Kathy this weekend for the Denver Film Festival, so I figured I better bust out a little ride. 

This time of year it's always so compelling to get a ride in. There's always the feeling that the hard weather is just around the corner and we won't be on dirt much longer. But it's been feeling like that to me since early October, and moreso since we got back from Mexico.

But yeah, it's fuggin' pretty again. Go figure.


Southern Sawatch Range as seen this morning from the Arkansas Hills north of Salida. The peaks are (left to right) Ouray, Chipeta, and Pahlone. Ouray was a lendendary chief of the Ute Indians. The Ute were indiginous to this area before statehood in 1976, which was roughly when they were run out of the mountains and moved to reservations (as was the fashion at the time). Chipeta was one of Ouray's wives, and Pahlone was his son by another wife, Black Mare.

See this article from Colorado Central Magazine if you're interested in knowing a bit more.

And then it changed--maybe for only the day

Glad I did a nice, long ride yesterday. Today is chilly, windy, overcast, and with the smell of snow in the air. Shiver shiver. We do need the moisture though. And the forecast for tomorrow is back to clear and dry.

So it goes.


On the horizon on the right side center of this photo is roughly where I was yesterday when I took the photo of clear, cloudless southern Chaffee County.

Clear, Dry Arkansas Valley

Eight days ago I declared that our weather was supposed to become stinko for riding. Did not happen. It's been ridiculously nice. Chilly overnight, sure. Down in the teens. But that's standard for the Upper Arkansas in the months between the autumnal and vernal equinox. Clear, sunny, daytime temperatures in the upper 50's and lower 60's, but feeling warmer in the sun. Night rides comfortable until after 8 PM.

Rode the Rainbow Trail between Bear Creek and Methodist a while ago. 9,000 feet elevation and dry as a bone. Too dry I guess, but I like it. I'm selfish--I like to ride.


Glassy clear air. Utterly cloudless sky. Typical for the valley in autumn.

Sunsets and New Trails

Last week one evening Kathy and I were taking a little hike and noted the compelling beauty of rose-colored light that washed over the land due to a fabulous and sublime sunset. I wanted to get some pictures of some of our new trails winding through the piñon, and I decided that I wanted them to appear in this light. So on Sunday late afternoon we set out for another evening walk, this time with camera hoping to get similarly beautiful soft light.

As we trespassed across the dormant Union Pacific railroad tracks the sun was just touching the horizon and the early evening sky was mostly steel-colored. Seemed like we might just have to settle for flat soft light.

We climbed a steep and direct route up onto Tenderfoot hill. The sun disappeared behind Mt Ouray. We arrived at the beginning of the newly completed trail we've been calling Little Rattler.



At around 4:30 PM we got this shot. The light was gray, the terrain was gray, the trail was gray, but still a pretty nice photo. Note the tire tracks. The trail already has many visitors, afoot and riding, every day. We saw a rider as we ascended.

Then it happened. The sky bloomed.



We headed back, farther north and farther up into the slope of the Arkansas Hills. We got the rose-colored pictures. Here's a sample:


Work in progress, The Backbone Trail

It got dark on us, but we had just enough light to keep from tripping on rocks, and we got a nice view of our little town with a last bit of spectacular and poignant sunset.

Late Rainbow

Today I just had to take a few minutes (well, hours) to ride our local bit of lovely Rainbow Trail. The weather is supposed to get nasty this week which would be appropriate to the season. So I thought today would probably be a good day to go, rather than regret that I lost my chance to ride it one more time. 

There was a bit of wintery weather visible on the tops of the Sangre de Christo peaks that we see up ahead.


Climbing toward wintertime.


Check out the wintertime visible between the trees. Pretty though.


Ah, we locals do enjoy suffering on this pretty climb. I'll miss it when it is under 5 feet of snow.


Slightly snowy singletrack.

New Trail Construction!

Yesterday my trails organization, Salida Mountain Trails, had a volunteer day. We have done this before, even this year, but this one was special. This workday was the first day that we were able to build trail on BLM land near Salida.

We have built some short trail sections on a limited amount of City of Salida-owned land across the river and north of downtown. But these projects were limited. The City land is nice, but it's quite finite. Perhaps 150 acres. Our mission has been to build a trail system. Western style. Long rides (or hikes, or trail runs). We've been working with BLM to get clearance to start building our plan for years. Four of them. And yesterday was the day when we first operated on the "green light means go" rule. We broke ground on our Backbone Trail, the first level of our stacked loop trail system.

And we got 40 folks! We built about 1/3 mile of trail!

Check the pics:

This is how it starts. Actually, note the guy in the background with the black shirt and yellow hardhat--it starts with him going out and flagging the route. No wait, it starts with him organizing the whole thing while I played in Mexico. Famous GAT Squadder, Andrew M.

End of the day, not yet sculpted to perfection, but trail.

A bit of the last project we did on City of Salida Land

So there you have it, progress out in the Piñon across the river from Salida.

Copper Cañon

Two weeks in the State of Chihuahua in the interior of Mexico. USA is serving up some culture shock. It was sure nice to not hear any news...

Too many stories to blog. How about just some pictures, each telling at least a few hundred words, if not a thousand:


Enrique, our Creel local guide, rides from a tarahumara farmhouse after talking to them

The trip was made quite rich by exposure to the tarahumara people, one of the most culturally intact indigenous populations left in North America.


Friendly tarahumara girl


Tarahumara woman at the lodge where we were staying, bringing goods for sale, her child strapped to her back


Kim cleaning a bike--not his.

The people we traveled with were the best. This is Kim, one of the kindest, most positive people I have ever met. He made the trip special with his humor and attitude.


The mission in the town of Cerocahui, Chihuahua. Pictured from the courtyard of our hotel


Waterfall near Cerocahui, Chihuahua


One of our first peeks at the grandeur of the Urique Cañon.

Most visitors to the Copper Cañon country descend into Batopilas Cañon if they go below the rim country. We traveled into Urique Cañon, a deeper and less visited cañon.


Urique Cañon, with the town of Urique along the Urique River


The Urique River as seen from the bottom of the cañon


The west cañon Wall as seen from Urique


The road out.

On Monday morning, the 11th day of the trip, we climbed up out of Urique Cañon, starting before daylight to avoid the intense heat of the cañon floor. This is the road we climbed. Approximately 4,500 vertical feet from the bottom to this point.


Campfire at the San Isidro Lodge at then end of the day that we climbed back to the rim out of Urique Cañon. Me, Kim, June, Phil, Kyle left to right.


Boots

Of all the many, many homeless dogs that I would have liked to adopt, this one who we called Boots was the most compelling. She was smart, beautiful, and surprisingly gentle for a street dog. She followed us all over Creel then slept on the sidewalk outside the hotel waiting for us to come out the next morning.

National Public Lands Crest Trail Work Day

I co-organized a big trail workday with IMBA, the Continental Divide Trail Alliance, Gunnison Trails, and the US Forest Service. It went off Saturday, with over 80 volunteers working to show the local favorite trail some love.

The weather shortened the day a bit, but it was definitely a great success.


Passing storm dropping graupel which is accumulating quickly on the ground

I hauled a BOB trailer with a couple tools out to a work site just north of the Greens Creek Trail intersection, leaving the pass a little before 8 AM and arriving around 9. I worked with three other volunteers for about an hour before the other folks who had been assigned to this area showed up. Quite a bit of good work happened, but then weather moved in quickly.

I finished up one water diversion, after having had a conversation with another crew leader about how we had better get the flock out of there. I was gathering tools that needed to be replaced in the tools cache that the Gunnison Forest Service people had brought in on Thursday. I had just put down an iron rock bar as I organized a small group of tools to carry downhill. Just then, there was a blue-white flash and an almost immediate crack of thunder.

Volunteers started to scatter, looking for cover. We were working right near the 12,000 foot Continental Divide ridge. I dropped my tools and ran down off the trail to a small grove of fir trees. As soon as I got there another close lightening strike flashed and boomed, the noise echoing around the little basin below us. Three women who were riding the trail appeared shortly, disoriented with semi-panic. Those of us who were huddled in the trees for safety 50 feet below the trail called out to them to drop their bikes and come down to the relative shelter of tree cover.

As we sat there, graupel began to fall heavily and the air become much colder and moist.

After the lightening diminished, some still being heard over a mile to the east, we decided it was time to bug out. I grabbed as many tools as I could carry and trotted them down the trail to return them to Gunnison's tool cache. A group of volunteers down there felt that they absolutely had to finish up an open diversion and trail armoring project, but promised to head back to Monarch Pass as soon as possible.

I scrambled back to the top, watching for more Gunnison tools, and blue-painted tools that belong to my group, Salida Mountain Trails. I found the four McClouds that I had trailered in. Back on top of the ridge, I set about re-loading my trailer as other volunteers gathered around their bikes to get ready to roll out of there. The next wave of storm moved toward the ridge from the west.

During the next hour and a half, myself and all the other volunteers headed back to command central to finish up the work day, and get on to the more important business of executing a barbecue.


Barbecue for volunteers after the work was done

The fact that weather shut us down much earlier than we wanted was unfortunate. But the Colorado high country rarely allows for much dallying about during the afternoon. It was far better to get all the volunteers out before things got worse.

And then we got to have a barbecue at Monarch Ski Area.

What's more important, really?

Autumnal Equinox

Our summer has ended. End of summer is always a big deal to me--kind of the end of my year in some ways.

It's been an interesting, transitional summer for me. By contrast, last summer was simply part of my 2007. Which is to say it was ride, ride, ride, race, ride, ride...

This summer was a whole new deal.

Pictures recently were captured of this year's Colorado-style early autumn. Check 'em:

Vapor Trail 125, 2008 edition

September 6-7, 2008

The 4th Vapor Trail 125 is now history. It was my honor to plan and run the event. Lots of work, but very gratifying. To all the riders and volunteers, thanks. It was really cool thanks to all of you.


The riders line up on the F Street Bridge in Salida

It was a great event. Check for more details at http://vaportrail125.blogspot.com and of course http://vaportrail125.com

See you next year.

24 Hours in the Sage

For the folks who have been reading this blog for the past few years, sorry to have left it to go stale lately. It's been a busy summer, and I have been doing some different things. Starting in about January of 2007, riding mountain bikes was pretty much what I did. Long solo rides, events. More long rides.

I now have somebody very special in my life, and I have been spending less time riding, and more importantly and very happily, less time alone.

After the Cream Puff, I decided to move away a bit from training for events and making those events the punctuation marks of my life. I felt the need to do at least one more solo 24, and I love the Sage race, so I signed up for that one.

I decided to ride it on the singlespeed, for the experience, and because I remembered the blurring speed that I achieved last year on my geared full-suspension Lenz Leviathan. I'm in injury avoidance, since I'm still sporting some of the effects of some key crashes between March of 2007 and May of 2008. I'm getting too old to keep on busting myself up. It's fun to ride fast, but also fun to be able to keep riding in general, and avoiding the arthritis and other pain as I head into older age.

I raced at Gallup in April on the single, and it was good. Didn't totally kill me, and especially wasn't hard on the knees and legs, as conventional wisdom might have you expect.

So off I went. My goal for this ride was to have the experience, and nothing more. Last year I rode my first three laps fast and then kept up as brisk as possible a pace. This year I just rode.

The singlespeed was much harder work, or so it felt at least on this ride. All went well, it just took more energy. I rode almost everything the first two laps, then started pushing some of the steeper bits. By my fifth lap, there were several key hills that I just jumped off and walked without even any attempt to ride. But it was going OK. I just seemed to keep getting hungry, more often than usual during this part of a long race.

I stopped for quite a while when it was time to mount the lights. I was tired, and I did not feel particularly driven to get back out there. But I did, and the sun went down. Soon a huge full moon appeared from behind thunderheads on the horizon.

I rode a couple good night laps, and felt pretty good energy. The night almost always energizes me. I started my eighth lap feeling the same. Good. It was about midnight as I headed out from the start/finish.

About two-thirds through the course, the Sea of Sage downhill came along. I rocked it as fast as a singlespeed can. It was great. I felt alive and exhilerated. I noticed that the air had become really chilly, and thought about putting on more clothing when I returned to the start.

At the end of the downhill, I started the climb up Rocky Ridge. I had been able to pedal it on every previous lap. I stood up and started grinding through the steepish first part. Out of nowhere, my body sent a big Ugh up my spine and into my brain. I stepped off the bike and started pushing it. With every step I felt worse. Hungry. Very cold.

I saw a big rounded rock off to the left of the course. I laid the bike down and staggered over to it. I sat down and grabbed an extra layer from my pack. I started eating a hammer bar. It tasted like sugared sawdust. I sat on that rock and looked at the clear, beautiful sky. And I thought to myself, what the hell am I doing out here? I was pushing my body hard, but I didn't really have a goal. The world was so beautiful, why was I making it so hard? Do I need to race to enjoy riding my bike? Do I have to enter 24 hour races to go ride at night?

Cold. I pushed my bike for a while. People asked me if I was OK. I thanked them and said yeah, just got the staggers for a while. Eventually I rode on and off. I wanted to get back. I wanted to go to my camper and get warm. And get really warm clothing. And maybe eat something that tasted good.

Descending through "the gap" and back down the road to the start/finish I got even colder. I felt like I was turning blue. When I got there I checked in the lap and then went to my camper. I crawled into the sack. Once I was in there I knew I wasn't going to get out. I was pretty sure I wouldn't even go back out after the sun came up and it got warmer.

In the morning I put on street clothes and we went over to the start/finish. I was done. I did 8 laps. Fine. It wasn't that I had missed making my goal. I had not started out with a goal for how many laps I would do, my goal had been to have the experience. And that goal was met.

I ran into people that I know who I rarely spend more than a few minutes talking to when I go to solo these things. I got to hang out. I had some of the pancakes that they were handing out--pancakes that I would not have had if I was still out there doing circles on the course. I took pictures of friends who were coming in from their laps. It was fun.

Here's a picture I got of my good friend Anton:


Townie 24 Hour World Champion Anton van Leuken rolling to the finish

Not sure where this is going for me. Right now I'm not planning to do any races. Not planning to not do them, but I'm happy for now just riding and doing my thing.

We'll see where this blog goes. I'm guessing it will be different. Hope that's OK with y'all. Just my life going somewhere a little different for a while.

I may post some back-dated stories about fun things I did. Some did not involve bikes. Most did involve some beautiful rocky mountain scenery. Hope everyone had as good a summer as I did.

St Charles Trail, Wet Mountains

August 31, 2008

Spent the Labor Day Weekend in the Wet Mountains, southeast of Salida, the foothill range just east of the Sangre de Christo Range. Interesting and unusual mountains compared to other mountains in the south-central portion of Colorado.

Here are pictures from a hike up to St Charles Peak:


The trail on the way up.


Pikes Peak as seen from the Wets, pretty much north. Looking across the last mountainous portion of the Arkansas River Valley.


Panoramic view from the top, looking from West to North.

Just another Marshall Pass/Silver Creek ride

August 8, 2008

My bread and butter training and fun ride during summer from Salida is a climb from town up to 10,900 ft Marshall Pass, a traverse of the Continental Divide ridge to the headwaters of Silver Creek, descent of Silver Creek to the Rainbow Trailhead, then down the Rainbow and back to town.

This day was a day after a big rain, and there was lots of moisture hanging in the air.


The Continental Divide National Scenic Trail as it departs from Marshall Pass, shrouded in mist


The view down Silver Creek from "the lunch spot"

Marble River/West Maroon Pass

August 3, 2008

Every summer a person who lives within two hours of Crested Butte should make a pilgrimage just to see the flowers. Bike riding, of course. When possible. But I know from experience: to see the best flowers you need to use your feet. A hike in to the Snowmass/Maroon Bells Wilderness is the way to get the goods.


The view west from the Trailhead, west of Schofield Pass. Down the Marble River toward the town of Marble.

It's really difficult to capture how beautiful the flowers are with a camera, you have to see them.


Flowers and skunk cabbage


A tiny waterfall near the headwaters of the Marble River


The view from W. Maroon Pass, off toward Aspen. First weekend of August, and plenty of snow.

Browns Pass

July 19, 2008

Nice long climbing hike up to Browns Pass, a backcountry pass in the Collegiate Peaks Wilderness, just south of Cottonwood Pass which is the way to get over to Taylor Park from Buena Vista.


Trail up to the pass


The view west from Browns Pass toward Taylor Park.

Puff the Magic Drag-Ass

Tired.

Sunday night I finished the Cascade Cream Puff at 8:10 PM Pacific Daylight Time after over 14 and a half hours of struggling with gravity and rolling resistance and humidity. Then I got up Monday morning and drove 8 hours to Boise, ID. Then got up Tuesday morning and drove 12.5 hours to Salida. Now I'm tired.



The Cream Puff really is memorable. It's huge and beautiful. The organization and aid station volunteers are 1st rate. So much pretty singletrack, a course with absolutely no flat ground, huge trees, ferns and moss...

Saturday before the race was hot. Scary hot. I was making sure I had piles of electrolyte capsules and salt crystals to bring along. I was thinking about how full I should keep my hydration pack. I was coaching myself to drink regularly and keep up on my electrolytes. Then around dinnertime the thunder started to rumble. At just around bedtime it started to rain. I had gotten myself prone after much fidgeting around with gear, loading of a drop bag, and attending the race meeting at 4 PM. I relaxed and listened to the rain as I tried to fall to sleep. It was a relief, cutting the heat and creating hope for a cooler day for the race.

My alarm woke me up at about 3:45. I did not need a jacket or anything covering my legs in the pre-dawn darkness. It was probably 65° F and very moist. I saw evidence that there had been about a third of an inch of moisture over night. I got myself dressed up and rolled from the RV Park where I stayed with June and Phil at around 4:45 for the 5 AM sign-in. Start was scheduled for 5:15.

The start did not actually happen until a few moments before 5:30. There was almost fog. The air was far thicker than anything I've been used to for many years. The day promised to be humid, but it seemed that the heat of Saturday would be cut back by the moisture.

I've been stressed about this race, really wanting to finish it. My girlfriend Kathy gave me a really good perspective though--that I should just have the experience. What does it really matter? Since I've been doing these endurance events, I've been really goal-oriented. And that's good. But it's not good to beat myself up after putting in good efforts. And it's not good to allow that stuff to spoil a life experience like going to the Oregon Cascades to ride and see the unique Northwest timber country. No matter what happens, it's good. It's success.

So I started out the day with a smile. What happens happens. Be here. Enjoy the experience. Let it happen.

At the start we rolled in big ring up a paved road for three miles, then turned left onto road 1910, a logging road that headed up from around 1000 ft elevation to Windy Pass at around 3,700 feet. Nice 2,700 foot climb in 11 miles for a warmup. We climbed through clouds. The air was rich and foggy, and the scent of pines and wildflowers floated through the air. Near the top of the climb we finally climbed out into patchy sunlight.

I got to Aid Station #2 at Windy Pass at around 7 AM. I needed nothing from them since I'd started out with a full bag of water and a bottle of HEED. I proceeded to begin the 1st turn around the upper loop, starting on the Alpine Trail, then riding the Tire Mountain Trail and the Winberry Divide, finishing with the Winberry Tie Trail. This chunk of the course I had ridden almost completely on Thursday (the day we got lost) so I knew that it was a fair bit of work and a couple hours at least.

Near the start of the Alpine Trail there is an opening in the tree cover, and a view down to the upper Willamette Valley:



The valley floor was obscured by a layer of cloud. It was really breathtaking. The air was thick and moist and felt really good in my lungs. The trail was tacky and my tires rolled almost silently.

Tire Mountain is so classic. It has big huge trees, sweeping traverses with tight switchbacks, bridges, and lots of moss and ferns. There was a climb near the beginning, then it was mostly downhill for several miles.

The Winberry Divide is a ridgeline trail. It climbs and descends, and is really fairly intense. Switchbacks tend to be tight, sightlines are short, and the climbs take lots of work. On my first trip I climbed most of those in the saddle. Then it turns into the Winberry Tie Trail after an intersection with the Eugene to Crest Trail. The Winberry Tie is beautiful. The last little bit looks like something out of Jurassic Park--a winding ribbon of singletrack through a bed of moss with ferns, leafy bushes, and vines all around.

There was quite a bit of traffic when I passed through the first singletrack section. For the most part the other racers were cheerful and easy to ride with, but it was a bit disruptive. Lots of passing. It's quite difficult to follow a rider on that Cascade singletrack. In order to stay safe you really need to have a good sight line. There is not enough time to react with a rider blocking your forward view of the trail.

Then it was in to Aid Station #3 and the beginning of the brief paved road section along Winberry Creek. The road was one lane and had moss growing in the middle where car tires weren't rolling. It climbed almost imperceptibly. The creek was incredibly pretty, full of pools and little rapid areas. Idyllic. That piece of the return to Windy Pass was sweet place to regroup and unwind after the strenuous and engaging Winberry Divide section.

The climbing began. Over 2,000 feet needed to be gained in about 12 miles. Not too much vertical, but enough. And there's a certain amount of roll in that bit of road, so you give back a little elevation that has to be climbed again before reaching Windy Pass.

I left Aid #3 at around 9:30 AM after filling my water bottle with HEED and rice protein powder. There were lots of people around me, and it seemed that most were climbing faster than I was. But that's typical.

I reached Windy Pass at about 11:30, got my hydration pack refilled, grabbed a couple full Hammer Gel flasks and my can of Red Bull from my drop bag, and rolled as quickly as possible. It was time to tackle Alpine-Tire Mountain-Winberry again.

I felt pretty good on the singletrack the 2nd time. The temperature was still really moderate, but it was quite humid. Thankfully most of that trip was done under a high canopy so there wasn't much exposure to sun. The dappled shade was beautiful.

I had to pass a few slower singletrack riders near the start, but then was in much less traffic than the last pass. There were about half a dozen riders I played leapfrog with, but it was not at all disruptive. For the most part I was able to just roll at my pace. It took almost exactly as long for me to arrive at Aid Station #3 from Windy Pass as it had on the first pass, which was really encouraging. I had expected to struggle on that second pass with heat and fatigue, but it wasn't uncomfortably hot at all and I had good energy.

At Aid #3 I refilled my food bottle again, and the half dozen or so riders I had been with on Winberry were either already there or arrived while I was stopped. I swallowed electrolytes and a little pile of sea salt crystals and made my way back to the road climb.

This time, I was alone. One rider rolled up behind me on the paved section and sat behind me. Neither of us said anything, and he seemed to be drafting on me. When we hit the gravel and the steeper grade he passed me and we exchanged a few words.

I felt like I was really laboring to make a pace on the climb, but was really surprised that nobody overtook me. I was starting to look at my watch. It was about 1:45 when I left Aid #3 and I knew it would take at least two hours to get back to Aid #2 at Windy Pass. That would put me there at 3:45-4:00 PM. Then I would need to descend Alpine Trail all the way to Aid #1 at the start/finish. When I pre-rode that it took me over 90 minutes, but I was stopping lots to gawk and take pictures so I wasn't sure of how quickly I could do it. I needed to plan for over an hour for that descent if I was going to be safe. And I needed to stop at an Aid to refill my hydration pack at least once more, which would take time. So, what? 5:00 PM at Aid #1 then the climb back to Windy Pass? That took 90 minutes first thing in the morning. And that was with the road section to the start of 1910. This time I needed to ride the North Fork Trail (singletrack) to the start of 1910. Cut-off at the last visit to Aid #2 on Windy Pass was 7 PM. Shit. I realized I was marginal to finish. No extra time, no tolerance of a slowed pace.

I connected with the sentiment that Kathy planted in my head. Not finishing will not be failing. I struggled with that a little, then came to a balance. I decided I was going to try. I was going to keep it rolling and not stress about it--or at least stress as little as possible. I really wanted to finish, and I could see that it was possible. But if I flatted or if I blew up, so be it. I knew that anything that cost me more than 15 or 20 minutes would break it. But I could try.

So I rolled.

The heat now was coming on. There were sections of the climb back to Windy Pass that were in broad sunshine. When there was no shade the heat and humidity were uncomfortable. But I accepted that, and I kept in my head the realization that it could have been much warmer, and the heat could have come on much earlier. I took more salt and more electrolyte, and I ate a couple of dates that I had with me.

I decided to stop at Aid #4 to get my hydration bag refilled. It was much smaller and less busy than any of the other Aid Stations. And I'd been hitting the bag pretty hard, so I knew that I might actually run out before reaching Aid #2. I would fill the bag at Aid #4 and then roll through Aid #2.

Still nobody passed me. It seemed to take forever to get to Aid #4. Wasn't it just past this road intersection? Must be just around the next bend in the road. No? Am I really dragging, or was it just farther along than I remembered? I worked to keep the stress at bay, then I saw a box trailer with plastic water jugs in it. Aid #4.

I had them pretty much top off the hydration bag, then poured my Red Bull into the bottle of food on my bike. It was time for a kick in the junk to get me back into a good frame of mind and give me the will to turn those cranks for another 7 miles to Windy Pass and the top of the Alpine Trail. I was ready to be done with this 2nd pass on the upper loop.

The last 7 miles of that stretch of the course has some descent downhills and flat sections. I tried to carry as much momentum as possible, and stood to climb in taller gears rather than sitting to grind out small gears to get there. I reached Aid #2 and the end of the 2nd upper loop at about 5 minutes to 4:00 PM. Getting down to Aid #1 with enough time to get back up to Windy Pass by 7 was going to be just as challenging as I'd thought. But be safe, damnit. "I for sure won't make it if I crash," I thought to myself.

The outstanding Aid #2 people asked me what I needed as I approached, and I told them I was a little worried about time, so I was just going to roll. Eric, the Aid #2 supervisor trotted along next to me kind of interviewing me. I knew that he was evaluating me to be sure I was OK to proceed. He did not want some bonked out rider trying to get down Alpine without stopping to get some rest, hydration and calories. I explained that I was OK, but that I needed to roll. He let me go, and I got down to business.

There are a few fairly steep climbs at the top of Alpine, then the escalater heads down.

Holeee Smokin' Brake Pads Batman! That Alpine Trail is some kind of descent when you aren't stopping to take pictures. I had already had to stop twice to take up slack in my Avid BB7 calipers. The descents on the first loop had eaten some brake pad, but this thing--wow. Letting go of the brakes out of a switchback made me pick up speed like a rollercoaster. Then hauling it back down to get around the next one, then picking up speed again. Then long straight steeps where I had to ride the brakes all the way--focusing on the front letting that big front rotor do what it's good at. I wondered if those rotors were getting orange.

I made it down to Aid #1 in almost exactly one hour. It was about 4:50 PM. I talked to Scott, the Cream Puff honcho and he told me I was fine to make the cut-off if I felt OK. So I spent a few minutes there. I chugged the rest of my Red Bull-HEED concoction then re-filled my food bottle and got on my way.

The North Fork Trail that I took to the bottom of road 1910 seemed to take forever. It was really pretty, and I should have enjoyed it, but I just wanted to see the bottom of that climb so I could get down to the business of climbing the last road section and making the cut-off. The trail was fairly overgrown, and I had been warned that this was the biggest poison oak exposure of the whole course. I tried not to brush the overhanging vegetation, but it was pointless. I tried not to touch my legs so that I wouldn't get any of the oil on my gloves, where it would then wind up on my face, etc. But of course there were skeeters to slap and itches to scratch. So be it.

Eventually I reached 1910. I was blessed by some overcast sky, and the heat of the day seemed to have subsided, but I was feeling the effects of 12 hours of riding and humidity. My jersey felt like it must have a pound of salt disolved in the fabric. It was nearly 5:30. I ate electrolytes, a little pile of salt crystals, and my last medjool date. I took a hit of Hammer Gel from my last full flask. I swallowed several mouthfuls of water. And I got down to it.

The first 5 miles of this 8-mile climb are steepish. I had been about half middle ring and half granny on the first trip up, 12 hours ago. But now I was pretty much granny. Every once in a while I would go up to middle ring and stand. But that was making my left foot hurt. So I just held on. At about mile 2.5 I came into a forest management area where most of the trees had been cleared. The overcast sky broke up enough to put some sun on my shoulders. It was taking a toll. I kept at it, but eventually had to stop for a minute just to stand and breath.

At about mile 5 the climb flattens a little, but I was not really able to take advantage. I just didn't have it. My HEED-Rice Protein was starting to make me nauseous. My Hammer Gel was pretty much gone. I started feeling bonky. I stopped again, this time just dumping out the food bottle contents. I didn't even want it close to me. Yuk. One of the guys who I had last seen at Aid #4 caught me and passed me. I took out a Hammer bar but could only eat half of it. It tasted like sawdust. I started yearning for something sweet up at Aid #2. I was yearning for Aid #2 in general.

A canadian girl appeared up the road cheering. I asked her how much farther to Aid #2, assuming it was right around the corner. "A-boot a mile, a little more" she said, as if that was good news. I looked at my watch. Quarter to seven. Could I make a mile plus in 15 minutes? I was so close--not making the cut-off now seemed tragic. I was starting to feel that emotional semi-weepy mental state that comes with deep fatigue and bonk. I struggled to keep it back. I thought about happy things, but it was hard.

I saw a group of people up ahead cheering. Could they be closer to Aid #2? One of them had a baby stroller. How far would she have pushed a baby stroller down a gravel road? They said encouraging things as I struggled past them, and I felt emotion choking me. Then I rounded a bend in the road and saw one of the easy-ups for Aid #2. "Thank God" I wispered. Thank God. It was 6:55.

I sat down in a folding chair, and Eric the Aid Station Angel sat in front of me looking into my eyes. He was asking me what I needed, but I knew he was also evaluating me. I told him I was really tired, but thought I was OK. I needed something sweet to drink. He brought me a bottle of gatoraide and I drank half of it in one pull. He brought me orange sections and another volunteer brought me a chunk of watermelon. He put a cold, wet washcloth on my neck and brought me a gold-colored juice concoction--apple and guava and something else. It was the nectar of the gods. I drank a cup of it, and Eric put more in my water bottle.

In ten minutes of sitting and drinking and eating, I felt 100% better. My emotional state was under control, and I just started feeling happy that I had made it. All I needed to do was make it down safely. A little more climbing, but only minutes worth.

I thanked those wonderful people at Aid #2 and headed for the finish. Just before I started down the Alpine for the 2nd time, I stopped to dial in my brakes. I took up a surprising amount of slack--again.

I rolled carefully but without wasting any time. If I needed to fix a flat or stop for any other reason, I needed a little slack. But again, crashing was not in my plan.

The light was getting dim, and in some places the cover was so deep that it was pretty dark even at mid-day. There was a deep haze visible when looking down into the Willamette Valley, and the slanting sunlight looked a little red. Smoke from the fires in California?

I rolled carefully but with purpose, and never had to stop. I got to the finish at around 8:10. Scott handed me a finishers cap and shook my hand. I looked around at the gathering of riders and families and friends.

Done. Finished. Complete.

Alpine Trail

Today John shuttled me up to ride the Alpine Trail, the last part of the 2008 Cream Puff course. Having seen this section in addition to the trails I rode yesterday, I have now ridden all but 3 miles of the singletrack on the course.



Alpine is really beautiful. Big surprise, eh?

Counting down to Sunday morning. Early. 5:15 AM Pacific Time.

A Three-hour tour

I have arrived in Westfir and am enjoying the warm hospitality offered by my good friends Phil and June. Damn is it pretty here. Lots of green stuff.

My first morning in Westfir I meet a fellow racer, John, who has just heard that there is a section of this year's course that should probably be seen in order to understand what is coming. The Winberry Divide Trail preceded by the Tire Mountain Trail has been described as "tough". So John and I decide to drive up there to ride it, either out-and-back or using the fire road climb (forest road 1802) to return to our vehicle parked at Windy Pass.



The first singletrack is the lovely and amazing Alpine Trail. To follow the course we leave Alpine after about 1.5 miles in favor of Tire Mountain.


Wow.


More wow in this section of Tire Mountain.

Tire Mountain is full of tight, tight switchbacks. It's so fun and challenging, so beautiful. Then I notice that we are really only descending at about 9 mph. Hmm. Just making that rate on the descents? Uh oh.

Then comes Winberry Divide. Lots of steep climbing. Beautiful, yes, but strenuous. More slow going.

My emotions are mixed. Oh the pretty singletrack; but 12.5 miles of Alpine Trail, Tire Mountain, and Winberry Divide cost over 2 hours. Sure, these pictures got snapped and there was some yakking, but it took time, baby. And effort.

When we reached the end of Winberry where the fireroad climb was to commence, something went awry. Perhaps we paid too little attention to the course markings, or perhaps they had been sabotaged (there was some rumor of that on http://www.cascadecreampuff.com/2008_status.htm). We wound up back at a place where the singletrack had crossed a fireroad. We had gone in a circle. There was head scratching and map consulting. Both of us were a bit more tired than we had planned to be 3 days before the race, so we decided that the best plan would be to bail down to the North Shore road and roll back to the RV park, then take my truck back up to get John's rig. Question was, which way was the North Shore road?

Long story short, we took one bad turn then one more. We wound up descending to two different dead ends. Then we decided that the only good option was to backtrack up the singletrack. Which was unfortunate, since it had descended like a lead balloon just before we got turned around.

After the grind back up to a high knob, we dropped onto another fire road. I was skeptical, John was confident that we had found road 5823. After much map reading and harrumphing, I agreed that we should give a descent down this unmarked road a mile then pass judgement.

Turned out to be a good deal. We got down, then rolled back to camp on the nice, flat North Shore road. It was a 35 mile day and well over four hours. More than I wanted to ride, but much was learned. And I got pictures. And there was plentiful dinner. By far better than working!

Oregon or Bust

Time to roll out to the Cascades in Oregon to get down to the business of finishing the Cream Puff.


One of central Oregon's lonesome highways, with the snow-capped Cascades on the horizon

The drive out here was long but scenic. I stopped off in Boise to see my old bro-in-law and his girls. That was really nice.

Paying for gas, not so much. I keep thinking I hear my wallet screaming. Or perhaps its the sound of evil, maniacal laughter from the oil industry.

Colorado Trail Day

Monday ride day. This time I was looking for a tough ride to make me feel the hurt. I chose to climb to Blank's Cabin almost due west of Salida, jump onto the Colorado Trail and ride the uncivilized bit up to Chalk Creek, then climb up out of Chalk Creek to the section north from Mt Princeton Hot Springs. Then ride home on the road.

Started out spending two hours climbing into a stiff headwind. Man have we had wind this Spring! Then I made it to the CT for the grim hike-a-bike up to the high point of the whole day at around 10,200 ft. From there I embarked on the burly up and down toward Raspberry Gulch.


The Colorado Trail just north of the Mt Shavano trailhead

Pretty day, and I found shelter from the wind along the front of the Sawatch Range.


Chalk Creek Canyon as seen from Colorado Trail overlook just south of descent into canyon

Time to drop down to 8,220 to the Chalk Creek bottom, then down the road a few miles to Mt Princeton Hot Springs. Then up and up to the Mt Princeton Colorado Trailhead at around 9,500 ft.


The Mt Princeton section of the Colorado Trail

I intended to ride up the Colorado Trail until I hit the 10,000 ft mark, but I just didn't have the stones to do it. I was getting tired of being on the bike, running low on water, and ready to be home eating dinner then sitting on my butt.

I wound up with a 59-mile day and nearly 6,600 feet of climbing. I got home feeling tired enough and at least had some pretty pictures.

Aspen Ridge

For my Saturday training ride, I chose Aspen Ridge today. Northeast of Salida in the dry Arkansas Hills, the road over Aspen Ridge crests at about 10,350 ft elev. I wanted to confirm that it was snow-free. It was. Quite dry actually.


View towards Mt Antero showing some of the rock formations in the Browns Canyon proposed Wilderness Area in the middle ground.

There's some steep granny gear climbing to get to the ridge, and it was hot and windy today. Here's what the north edge of the Sangre de Cristo range looks like from Aspen Ridge:

First '08 Rainbow

Monday I stole a chance to get a Rainbow fix for the first time this year. Chaffee County singletrack is opening up. We're up to 10,000 feet now. The Crest? Gonna be a while. But our local bits of Rainbow and Colorado Trail are open, even if there's a snowdrift or two weeping onto the trail.



Creeks are running big. Really good for getting all that pesky chain lube cleaned out.

Nice.

And speaking of nice, check out this article about one of the coolest Denverites out there:

http://www.denverpost.com/headlines/ci_9458980

Independence Pass

Every year as Memorial Day approaches, the Colorado Department of Transportation (CDOT) endeavors to clear Independence Pass for motor vehicle traffic so that tourists can drive their RVs and rented Ford Contours from the Arkansas Valley over the Continental Divide into Colorado's enchanted ski town, Aspen.

Some lucky cyclists know that there is almost always a period of time after the snow has been cleared from the road but before the gate is opened. During that time the way up to the top is free for cyclists to enjoy without worrying about being run over or even having to listen to the cars roaring by.

This year the intrepid CDOT snow-movers were not able to get the pass open for Memorial Day. Nor was much of the tarmac free for cyclists to enjoy. But this past week word got down to Salida that the road was clear at least from the east approach up to the pass, and that the closure to motors would lift on the weekend of June 6.



My girlfriend Kathy and I drove up to Twin Lakes Saturday morning, unloaded at around 10:30, and headed up to climb to the pass. There was a bit of a gusty breeze just at first but amazingly it more or less petered out as we got up higher. When we left Twin Lakes it was feeling pretty warm, but gradually it got a bit chillier. But it never got terribly chilly, just pleasant. The sights and sounds were storybook Rocky Mountain springtime; brilliant white melting snow, trickling and running water, birds, breeze in the pines--and of course me wheezing.

It's hard to imagine a nicer ride on pavement. As we made our way up higher, the sweeping panoramic views became more and more dramatic. At the very top, the breeze forced us to quickly put on wind breakers. We snapped some photos, then started heading down.



The first half of the trip down was chilly. Hard to transition from working the climb to zipping down without any effort at all. But once we had dropped 1500 feet or so the air temperature came up and the road became flatter. At times we even had to pedal.

We got back to Twin Lakes at around 2:30. We loaded Kathy's bike into the truck, then Kathy drove back to Salida. I needed a long ride, so I took off on my bike to ride back to Salida.

The ride home was much less Disney than the out and back to the pass. It was much flatter, much noisier, and notably warmer. Luckily there was not too much wind, so I was able to make pretty good time. But I got home tired at around 5 PM.

Pretty damned good day all around.

back on the horse

I took 15 days away from mountain biking after bombing the 12 Hours of Mesa Verde.

Lots of time on tarmac since then, and let's not forget how good that can be for fitness. I did a couple 4 and 5 hour rides that left me pretty gol-darned shelled.

My ribcage is feeling quite a bit better. I can stand on the bike now.

So for my Monday ride this week, I decided to dust off the singlespeed for a little dirt and singletrack. And it was good. And I did not crash!

One of the really good parts of my ride yesterday was running into my friend Matt. He was on a Backyard Bicycles rigid bigwheel singlespeed with rim brakes. Damn nice bike, but without all the technology. I had been thinking about something all the way up the climb that Matt caught me on. It was about how fast my Lenz is, and how fast I ride it. Slamming along in a 44/15 gear, on a bike that is capable of soaking up whatever at that speed--how long before you get yourself in trouble. Well, look at my history since I've been on that thing.

So that was on my mind, then Matt came up and we had a conversation about how much faster modern bike technology is taking us, and the implications of that. When you crash, it's bigger and badder.

OK, this has become so cliché, but here it comes. What if all I rode was a singlespeed? Hardtail singlespeed--no big ring to drive me over 20 mph, no sophisticated rear shock to keep that wheel on the ground when I'm going faster than an antelope with a lion chasing it.



I know what's going to happen here, 90% of you out there are going to give me a big ol' RIGHT ON MAN and welcome me to the 1FG tribe. Maybe that's not so bad.

I dunno. I guess I better go try to ride up the Bear Creek Road (local hunk of Rocky Mountain puke-inducing jeep road climb) to see if I can hack it without a granny gear then think about it some more...

Tuesday Thursday Saturday Monday

Tuesday Thursday Saturday Monday. Lather, rinse, repeat.

This morning I got off my lazy butt and suited up for 40° weather, rolled the road bike out of my apartment and hit the road. I've got roughly 5 weeks to train for the Creampuff before I should start tapering. One of my assumptions about why I sucked so badly at Mesa Verde is that my fitness got a little flat.

I rode a fairly major endurance event every two weeks between mid-February and mid-April. Then I had a month with only a silly little XC race and a smattering of easy recreational rides.

So this morning before work at 10, I hit the bricks for a couple hours.

Damage assessment: The only real problem that I took away from my crash was the ribcage thing. It actually started feeling better during this week, which made me think it was just maybe some stress muscle from the shock of the crash. Yesterday, the last thing I did at work before the shop closed was to help a customer load two bikes in the back of a pickup truck. I closed his tailgate then saw that the latch on the right side hadn't caught, so I pushed it with my right hand. Aiyee! Pain shot up into my armpit. Riding home, and when ever I made certain movements during the evening, I felt a 'cl-clunk' feeling somewhere between right nipple and right lat. Once I got on the bike today, that clunking started happening several times a minute. Once when I got out of the saddle to climb a short rise, it was actually audible. Not really painful, just weird feeling. I don't think it could be ends of a broken rib grinding together, because that would put me on the ground with pain.

But I'm just going to have to deal with that. Eventually it will either stop or I'll have to do something about it. But for now I'm going to stick to the road. I don't think taking bumps on the mtb will feel very good for a while.

My work schedule for the summer starts next week, and it will change very little until the season winds down. Tuesday through Friday, 10am to 6pm. As I spun out of town I started thinking about what my schedule for rides should be. Tuesday and Thursdays before work, 2-3 hours, maybe sometimes getting up early for a longer one. Wednesdays and Fridays I better start doing some regular upper body floor exercise and maybe light weight work to get my arm and shoulders back in line. Saturdays, big ride. 5-10 hours. Lots of climbing. Mondays, big-ish rides, easy pace. Tuesdays will be intensity days.

Tuesday Thursday Saturday Monday.

12 Hours of Mesa Verde 2008

Last year this race was one of my favorite events and I was looking forward to it for months this year. After Gallup, I had decided that I would actually race this one for placing, not just to have fun or find a good pace and maintain it. More on that later.

The weather was predicted to be windy and mid-60s. Sounded much more race-able than last year's heat. At dawn there wasn't much wind, but I felt a little spatter of rain when I first emerged from the tPOD to begin preparations. 20 minutes later it was actually raining pretty hard. Rain? Clay course? Was this going to be a day of cold wet and not dry wind?

One of my first tasks was to get a precise amount of air in my tires. The rubber of choice was Bontrager Dry-X tubeless ready, running tubeless. I had carefully mounted them the prior week and aired them up to be sure they were holding. They were holding air great, so I fine tuned the pressure with a digital gauge then went about my other preparations.

The rain stopped at about 6:20, and I decided to wear a long-sleeve wool jersey (new Absolute Bikes custom woolies!) and leg warmers under my lycra. No hydration pack, at least for early laps, just a bottle of HEED. I went to the pre-ride meeting, then came back to the tPOD with only minutes left before the start. I picked up my bike to go to the staging area, and saw that the front tire was nearly flat! I said some bad words, then realized that I had not packed my backup wheelset which I had mounted with WTB Weirwolf 2.55s, a very safe tube and tire setup that I totally trust and know. I said more bad words. I would have just slapped my backup front on and put the tubeless aside if I had had it with me. I realized that I hadn't even brought a single backup tire. Dumbass! I quickly puffed more air into the front and didn't bother to check pressure with a guage because there was not time. I would just have to hope that it would hold, and I had a tube with me in case I had to put it in.

I made it to the staging area just in time, had to lay my bike down on the ground because there weren't any more spots left to lean it. Then the air horn went off and it was time to go.

I ran more than trotted in the Lemans start. I was looking for a good starting position. Didn't want to be stuck with lots of passing on that first lap. I intended to put in a good fast first lap, just like last year.

The field was much bigger than last year, and there were some tough-looking riders sporting the solo blue ribbon from their saddles. We lapped the fairgrounds race course then hit singletrack, where there was initially tight single-file line with lots of accordion slowing and accelerating. Once we got out onto the course in Phil's World things sorted out a little more. Riders who weren't great at navigating singletrack and the ones who had a good initial sprint but not the kind of fitness that would allow them to keep that early pace started to peel away. By the time we got to the section called Lemonhead traffic was not much of a problem.

There is a plateau area in this early part of the course that has lots of linked hairpin turns. I really enjoy carrying speed into those turns and carving the turns. Last year on my first lap I found the limit and washed out taking a minor spill. Same thing happened this year. I jumped back on and continued with the mantra "limits of adhesion" repeating in my brain. Limits of adhesion.

I pushed that lap at race pace, and felt that I finished it pretty strongly. But when I went back to pit I felt surprisingly spent for being just 16 miles into a race where I expected to ride nearly 100. I peeled off my wool jersey and leg warmers, even though it wasn't really warm yet. I didn't want to overheat. I chugged some water and took a bottle that had both HEED and rice protein. Normally I would stay with plain HEED for the first 3-4 hours, but I was already feeling kind of hungry. I wondered why I already felt tired.

I hit the course for lap two, but was not able to maintain a very good pace. I figured it was just a lull and I would get my second wind later. As I navigated the course, several riders with blue solo ribbons passed me. I wasn't maintaining whatever lead I might have gained on them in the first lap. I assumed my strong fitness base would allow me to catch those greyhounds later. I've ridden a ton already this year.

About three quarters of the way through that second lap as I bumped my way through the Tuffy Rim section, the end of my left handlebar clipped a juniper. I tried to recover, but watched my front wheel wobble around as I vaulted over the bars. I landed on my helmet and left shoulder then rolled onto my left knee and arm. Damn, what a klutz!

I got up pretty quickly and dumped sand and sticks out of my helmet vents and got back under way. There was a cluster of cactus thorns in my left knee and thigh, and I saw one sticking into my cheek just under the lens of my glasses.

"Damn that was clumsy," I thought to myself. What's going on? My balance and timing seemed to be off. Several riders passed me as I tried to breath off the slight nausea that comes from an adrenalin rush. Now I really felt crappy. I rode on toward the start/finish. When I reached the Ribcage section, I tried to really focus and regain my grace. At the top of one of the compression dips I went slightly off trail and had to stop and put a foot down. Damn!

Back at pit I took some time. I oiled my chain, I drank a bunch of water. I ate a small pile of sea salt crystals and a Hammer bar. I told people that I was going to turn down my pace a notch because I felt like I was just off; bad timing, judgement and execution. I watered down my food bottle, but I did not put on a hydration bag. I guess I still felt like I wanted to stay light, for speed I guess.

When I got back onto the course I felt the climbs pretty acutely, but I found myself still trying to ride the flat and downhill stuff quickly. I guess I wasn't willing to follow my own advice--still wanting to keep on pace for a decent placing. My mouth was dry and I felt generally lousy.

Just before Tuffy Rim, there's a short technical section named Green Lizard. I topped out a climb called the Moki Climb and saw a rider gaining on me. I expected to be faster than most anyone descending Green Lizard and didn't want to allow a pass just then, so I stomped on the pedals and entered Green Lizard quickly. I hit a series of stairstep slabs of sandstone going fast. And then I was going over the bars.

What happened is still a mystery to me. I came down hard, banging the right side of my helmet and my right shoulder blade/upper back onto the rocks, then came down on my right hip. The rider who had been gaining on me was right behind me when it happened. Ron, the brother of one of my good friends from Leadville was right around there too. The guy who was behind me must have been some kind of medical guy or EMT. He stopped and started checking on my condition. He looked into my eyes, asked me a series of questions that were obvious checks for head injuries, and he felt my spine for injuries. He and Ron spent some time asking me if I was sure I was OK or if I wanted EMT to get me out of there. My head was a little sore, but I was sure it wasn't critical, so I encouraged them to go on.

I laid down on a slab of rock and tried to let my body and mind settle. I drank from my bottle, but it wasn't plain water. I wanted plain water. Why wasn't I wearing my hydration pack? Why had I insisted on trying to keep my placing and stay ahead of an obviously gaining rider? Why did I crash anyway--what happened?

After a few minutes I got back on my feet and then climbed onto the bike. My head was already feeling better, but when I hit the first rock obstacle I felt the pain in my shoulder blade, and breathing hurt my upper ribcage. Bruised or broken rib? How did I get myself into this situation?

Immediately I decided that I was done. It was obvious that stopping was the only option. My body wasn't working, my judgment was bad, and I didn't seem to be able to take any of that seriously. When I started the lap I knew I was off, so why didn't I slow down? Three laps, three crashes. Each one worse than the previous. I was racing. I refused to not race, even though it was obviously totally futile to do so. What was going on in my head?

"Green Lizard is where I crashed," I thought to myself as I entered the Tuffy Rim section. Immediately I saw some movement to the left of the trail, and there was a bright green collared lizard running for cover. Seemed like an omen--those lizards are not all that common.



I struggled my way back to the start/finish carefully, with a dialog going on in my head.

Anyone can have a bad day. Of course I know that, anyone who's spent any time riding bikes at a high level knows that. But what was it that made me so unwilling to be practical? I have so much to lose. Early season; getting a bad injury would be awful. And what if it had been worse than awful? What if I'd really hurt my head or spine? What could possibly be worth that?

Racing was taking me into a stupid place. Then I thought about all the fairly serious crashes I had last season when I wasn't even racing--wasn't even competing unofficially with another rider. Just riding along. I like to ride fast and I'm pretty good at it. But why push it? Why keep taking it to the edge? So much to lose...

I'm still thinking about these things. My body is sore as hell, so it's not hard to remember that I have something to think about. Every time I breath I feel a little discomfort, and riding is uncomfortable though possible.

When I got really serious about endurance riding and racing, I didn't kid myself about being a contender for the podium. Somewhere along the line that seems to have changed. I have a rich history of risking too much for the sake of going fast on a mountain bike. I'm thinking about all of it. Definitely thinking about taking "racing" back to the realm of personal experience and not putting anything into official results.

I'm even having thoughts about what kind of cycling I should do in general. Fifteen years ago I quit drinking because I realized that I couldn't control the level. I couldn't seem to figure out how to consistently keep it to just a few beers. Sometimes I would get plastered and wake up hungover the next morning, asking myself what had happened. So I cut it out of my life.

Is this happening to me with mountain biking? Should I just ride roads? I think I'll always be a cyclist--hell, I know I will. But should I stop riding singletrack? I don't want to damage my body or my brain. Can I figure out how to ride singletrack and technical terrain and stay safe?

I'm entered in the Cascade Cream Puff next month. It cost me a fair pile of coins to get into that race, and I've always wanted to do it. Can I go to the Cream Puff and ride it safe? What about all my other plans for events this year? It's all rattling around up there right now. I'm just going to let it rattle. We'll see what happens.

Local Action (FINALLY!)

For the past 6 months all of my ride reports have focused on rides that were not here close to Salida. All of them.



At last there has been some melt-off. Today I rode up into the Arkansas Hills north of town to around 9,000 ft. elevation then descended on a trail soon to be made off-limits. I don't mention the name of the trail for obvious National Security™ reasons. But let's just say that the name rhymes with Trottonwood.

Wellsir, it was pretty damned nice. Suiting up right on my apartment rather than out of the truck in some southwestern parking lot, rolling right down the driveway and out of my town, and then climbing a few thousand feet to do a real mountain bike ride!

Damn straight.

Yeti Spring Series #2, 2008

Yessir, I raced it.

Well, OK, not officially. I signed up for the expert race, filled out my 1-day license form, then went off to warm up. On a trip past the start finish area my friend Taf, race official and really cool person, let me know that I couldn't race expert on a 1-day license.

Bah, I told her, I'll just ride with the pro-experts. I ain't gonna buy a $60 annual license when I won't likely ride in another NORBA sanctioned race this year. If I'm going to get spanked, I want to be spanked by the best. But I know it won't count for anything.



It was a pretty day, but windy like only Chaffee County in the spring can be. The Spring Series course at the RPM venue is a little different than the Chalk Creek Stampede version, but both feature nice long fenceline straightaways up a false flat right into the prevailing westerly wind. Nice view of Mt Princeton while you're suffering, wind roaring in your ears.

I raced just fine. I've had a little repiratory thing bugging at me for the last week, so I was a little worried about breathing really hard for 2 hours, but it went fine. I felt good, pushing a damned hard pace but not blowing up. I'm not fast enough to keep the leaders in sight, but that isn't really news.

Then, after the race, things got interesting. The real endurance event was hanging out for the awards and raffle, since the wind was blowing harder than ever and it turned chilly after the race ended. Only about a dozen riders actually waited for the awards. They were raffling a yeti hardtail frame and a nice DT Swiss wheelset, and there were only 12 ticket holders?!

You guessed it. Well, no, I didn't win the frame. That would have been me winning, which just doesn't happen. But I did bag the wheelset! DT Swiss X1800s! Woo Hoo! 2nd Place!

Sure, they're 26", so I won't be rolling them myself. But Mr eBay will hand me at least a couple hundred bones for them, which will maybe pay for my gas to Cortez in two weeks for the 12 Hours of Mesa Verde.

Looking for a deal on a wheelset? Check here:

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=180237398563
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=180237398508

Hope y'all have a good week!

Dawn 'til Dusk Day

The day dawned COLD. I mean gnarly cold, even by CO standards. I was up in plenty of time, but it was hard to get going. The heater in my camper did not want to run. The water in my 6 gallon jug was almost too frozen to get anything out. What came out was pretty much slush. Of course, it's standard operating procedure for me to assume that things will be pretty warm when I'm lower and farther south than home. Luckily I had basic warm clothes, minus the winter weight gloves, shoe covers, and head beanie.

I trotted over to the riders' meeting just in time, it was thankfully short. I jumped up and down shivering. But nobody looked comfortable, so it wasn't just me. Went back to tPOD II for final prep, then wound up rolling on my VooDoo singlespeed at about 6:58 toward the starting line about half a mile from camp. I rolled up to the back of the pack just as the horn blew. I didn't even put a foot down.

The first lap rolled on a dirt road north. My hands were painfully numb. My feet were getting there. The sun had just cleared the horizon, but we were on the west side of the mesas where the course would run, so we were in shade. After a brief easy climb we were on flat or slight downhill. I rode much of it hands-off with my hands shoved into my armpits.

Then we hit singletrack, and it was time to race.


Racecourse singletrack

As soon as I was on singletrack I felt warm. And by then we were in the slanting morning sun. The sagebrush slalom began.

My singlespeed's gear was 33:20. It was just perfect for this course, at least for me. A stronger pedaler could have gone a little higher, but I rarely felt really undergeared when railing through the twisty singletrack. It was good.

Lap 1 must have been a little short, because I turned it a few seconds shy of 59 minutes. At the end of the lap I considered hitting camp to shed some clothing and stock up on food, but after I passed through start/finish I decided it still wasn't really warm and I had enough of everything. I ran this whole race using just two bottle cages and jersey pockets, so I needed to be sure I still had food in my food bottle and clear water in my water bottle. There was enough, so off I went, to tackle the initial series of climbs that led us into the regular course.

My strategy for Dawn 'til Dusk was a little different than what I've brought to these races in the past. Normally I start out assuming that I have no chance to be on the podium, so I ride to please myself. I set a goal and ride for that goal. But my results have surprised me in the last year or so. Saturday I decided that I would ride to win. I rode every lap with what I had available.

Lap 2: I still had it. I rode it like the devil was after me. My first intro to the full course was positive. I probably got off the bike to push less than 5 times. I attacked the climbs, I rocked the singletrack to the limits of my ability. It was really fun.

At the end of the lap I hurried to my pit. New food, upper layers peeled off and chucked into the camper---replaced with short sleeve jersey, Hammergel flask into pocket, gone.

With the pit stop, lap 2 was hour and 20.

Lap 3: For the most part, I still had it. Hit it hard, unfortunately needed to visit pit again to peel off leg warmers, etc. Chad was there to lube my chain, switched my food into higher capacity bottle and put the film can of Sportlegs into my jersey pocket since the lactic burn was beginning to be distracting. Lap was 1:27:23 with pit.

Lap 4: Still running fast, but it was hurting me. Felt good to be riding in just shorts and short sleeves. I ate probably not enough--trying to stay on the throttle and not stop for anything. No pit stop, 1:19:45.

Lap 5: Uhg. My limits were rising into my throat. I pushed far more of the climbs. I felt pretty crappy and definitely like I had burned up much of my day's energy. I ate more, sometimes actually just coasting for a while to eat without breathing too hard or risking that I would drop my bottle. For the first time the singlespeed seemed to be a maybe mistake. I considered that I may actually have to stop early. Hit the pit at the end of the lap.

In this pit I swallowed maybe 3/4 of a teaspoon of salt, ate most of a Hammer Bar, drank about a pint of water at once out of my gallon jug, and slugged about half a flask of Hammer Gel. I mixed a new quart of food from the pre-mixed powder I had handy. Then I decided that it was time to tap into a can of ambition. Red Bull, baby. I drank about a third of it, pouring the rest into my food bottle. Back to start/finish, lap with pit stop was 1:36:46.

Lap 6: Phoenix from the Ashes. It took a while for my motor to start hitting on all sixes, but by the end of the first 15-20 minutes, which was where much of the course's climbing happened, I was good again. Good lap. Happy lap. 1:26:03. No pit.

Lap 7: Started good, but near the middle I felt again the grim reaper's existence. Oh yes, there is a limit. I also flatted on this lap. Often during a race, flatting will really stress and bum me out. This time I just calmly flipped the bike over, pulled out my Jethro Tool, and got down to the task of getting back on the trail. I was tired, which was a calming influence, but my mind also felt clear and clean. I just dealt with it, and got back on the horse. Headed for pit at the end.

Quick pit stop, just topping off food and water in my bottles. Probably took a big hit of Gel also, but I do not recall. Lap with pit was 1:49:54.

Lap 8: I knew this was my last--there was no way I would have time for a ninth. And I did not want one. I started out with resignation. I marched up the steep pitches on the initial climb with the purposeful trudge of someone who really wants to sit and a chair and eat bratwurst.

On one of the marches, which brought us through some slabs of slanting sandstone, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Sitting cross-legged at about eye level was a Native American boy maybe 3 years old. He was just sitting there silently watching racers heads go by. I looked at him and smiled and his face became a disco ball of friendly good humor. He was a really cute kid, and just seemed peaceful and happy. I didn't say anything, just smiled at him until I was past. It was a real shot in the arm.

Once I mounted back up, I found some of that weird, hard to explain energy that comes late in an endurance effort. I rode up some pitches that I'd been walking for much of the late day, and really trucked it in the fast parts. I talked with other racers who I would eventually pass, but just felt friendly, happy, and patient.

All through the last couple laps I'd been entertaining a fantasy that I might actually place. I'd seen lots of male singlespeeders (and quite a few really strong ladies), but they all seemed to be young bucks. "What if?" I thought.

I finished that last lap in 1:24:54, my 3rd best lap all day (though it was only 1 of 5 with no pit stop). When I got in there were only results through about 6 PM, so I asked the timing official if there was any chance that I'd placed. It took a while, but eventually he told me I was fourth in my category.

At the start/finish was most of the Tennessee Pass Cookhouse team, cheering their finishers. I hung out with them for a while, then saw Jim Gibson, a good friend from Flagstaff who had raced duo with Jake Rubelt. Jake finished while I was standing there, and we visited for a while.

I was so hungry, and just wanted to sit for a while and then hit the rack early. So I decided to shine on the awards ceremony. I grilled up some bratwurst and thick slices of potato with cheese on them. I ate half a sweet potato that I had pre-cooked. Then I ate the bratwurst on bread with mayo. Then I made an important phone call, and soon I was sleeping.

Good day. I'm pleased with fourth, but of course I'm still gunning for an actual shot at the podium. We'll see with the 12 at Mesa Verde next month.

Dawn 'til Dusk Gallup, NM

Great race, really good. What a kickin' course! Really fast and fun.

My first race on the singlespeed. I am surprised at how well I was able to hold up. Put a bunch of the pain onto my shoulders and triceps from all the standing and grinding. But not knees. And my gear was perfect. Really fun for rockin' it through the swoopy turns!


Dawn 'til Dusk course just after sunrise

I'm not going to write the story just now--need to get down the road back to Salida. But wanted to include a couple pictures. Here's the Tennessee Pass Cookhouse crowd who I camped with.

What a family reunion this was! I must have seen 40 people that I know from a variety of places.


My campmates, the Tennessee Pass Cookhouse Team

Good time.

Gallup or Bust

What is it with this year and me trying to travel out of Colorado?


lotsa winter on Cumbres Pass near the CO/NM border

I dragged the tPOD up and over Cumbres Pass into Chama, NM to take a bit more interesting route to Gallup than the old standards, either Wolf Creek to Durango and down or down to Albuquerque and over on boring old 40. It was pretty gnarly, but pretty.


new leaves

Once I got down out of the high country, everything was looking pretty durned spring-like. Love those fresh new leaves...

Tomorrow it's Dawn til Dusk. Go baby go!

Hurrah

Sunday was a down day for me. I was just tired. I layed around in tPOD II letting food, water, and oxygen help me recover from Saturday. Mid-afternoon I rode my bike into town from the north side to visit Radio Shack for the cig lighter cell phone charger I've always wanted.

Just as I was leaving Dave Nice called me. He was done riding Slickrock with the Arizona Boys, was hanging at Poison Spider. He was planning to catch a ride back to Salida with me so I went and met him and took him back to camp.

We ate bratwurst and potato slices grilled with cheddar on top then hit the rack. Dave started out under my truck since rain was imminent, but wound up crashing on the floor of the mens room since the weather turned really nasty. I never knew anything was happening outside the tPOD. I was out like a light.

Monday morning was beautiful and Dave and I hit the Moab Diner for the special (2 eggs, bacon, blueberry pancakes: $5.50).

I suggested Hurrah Pass-Jackson's Hole-Amassaback. Dave didn't know if he'd seen any of that other than Amassaback, so it was a plan. We parked at City Market and suited up. By then the pretty weather had left town, and there was just the lightest drizzle under overcast skies. We briefly considered scrubbing the mission, but of course that was just crazy talk.

Rolled out the Kane Creek road into a normal headwind, onto the dirt and past the Amassaback trailhead, on out to where the Kane Creek canyon opens out wide and beautiful. Skies stayed overcast, but the weather seemed more or less stable.

As we turned off the Kane Creek road toward the approach to Hurrah Pass it began to sprinkle again. Five minutes later it was non-trivial rain. We didn't really talk about it, just kept going. I wanted to at least get to the top of the pass before considering turning around.

When we got to the pretty and interesting part of the climb the rain stopped. There was sunlight lighting up some of the buttes and mesas in the distance. Soon there was a little blue sky showing. By the time we got to the top, the sun was out.

Here are some photos from the Hurrah Pass part of our little tour:


Dave on the Kane Creek side climbing toward Hurrah Pass


another one of Dave climbing toward Hurrah Pass


yet another of Dave climbing toward Hurrah Pass


cookin' it down the Chicken Corners side

Once we got to the bottom of the descent on the Chicken Corners side of Hurrah, my memory of the route finding started to fade. It had been maybe 10 years since my last trip over. We came to a big sign announcing a bed and breakfast that I did not remember being there. There were private property notices. The entry to this B&B looked an awful lot like the turn I vaguely remembered. But it seemed like it must be on down closer to the river, so we went past.

After a mile or so it became clear that we were on the way to Chicken Corners and not the turn-off to Jackson's Hole, so we turned back and into the B&B entry. Sure enough, a couple hundred yards in there was a gate and sign saying "stay on the road through private property--Jackson's Hole access". Coolio. Through the gate and on our way.

in Jacksons Hole making for the ladder

The ride through the Jackson's Hole was nice and scenic. Dave was digging the new horizons. Always nice to take someone on a ride they haven't seen before.

Climbing the ladder reminded me that my legs are tired. But I took my time and got up there.

Then it was an uneventful trip down off Amassaback. It had been a while since I did that too. Seemed about a quarter of the distance that I remembered. I guess we used to do short little things like that back in olden times. Silly rabbit.

The plan had been to roll over to Fruita or Rabbit Valley, camp and then hit the Mack Ridge trails on Tuesday. But when we got back to City Market, I asked Dave whether he thought maybe we should just head right out and make for Salida, since I figured we could be home by 10. Dave had been thinking the same thing. Both of us were tired and kind of ridden out, and being home sounded good. So we made some sandwiches, picked up malted milkshakes at Moab Diner and got on the road.

Only blip was some pretty serious icy travel over Monarch Pass. We got home at 10. Dave crashed in my apartment and I racked out in the tPOD out in the street. This morning bumped into my friend Greg who was headed to Pueblo to ride. He offered Dave a ride to Penrose where Dave could pedal up to C. Springs and catch the bus to Denver. We said our goodbyes a while ago, and now it's time for me to do laundry and start putting my life back together.

Nice trip. Good 'n tired.

Rim Ride Moab '08

This year we didn't even have miles of sticking green clay! Easy, no sweat at all, right?

Oh baby. Other than my failed attempt at the '07 Vapor Trail, I'm not sure I've ever had a more intense ride, or conquered a bigger challenge. Wow, is that course big.

I bailed last year at about mile 65, and still got in around 80 miles when I counted in getting back to town. This year I was determined to make the grade. What just another 25 miles over what I did last year? Big deal.

The ride started out a bit more gracefully than last year, when I forgot my water bottles and had to swing into camp; which allowed the pack to put a quarter mile gap on me right from the start. This time I rolled with the group north out of Moab as the dawn twilight developed. It was a beautiful morning, and warm enough to start before dawn with just a wool jersey and arm/leg warmers. Luxury.

The first job was tackling some rowdy slickrock on the Rockin' A trail. It was a real suspension workout--but of course as I rolled off it onto the slightly less rowdy Circle O I noticed that I had my fork locked out since the climb out of down. Dingbat! The fox blow-off works really nice though. I'm sure the fork was soaking some of it, and I know I saw near full travel at least once.

Sovereign really is beautiful, and what a great bunch of singletrack! I probably expended too much precious energy hammering the climbs, but it was too fun. The final descent to the crossing underneath 191 was so technical, my hands, arms, and shoulders were stressing. Too fun.

I did stop for pictures a few times. Couldn't be helped.


Matt from GJ rolls by with Manti-La Sal in the background


Climbing rim riders on the Sovereign Trail

After crossing 191 it was on to the Cottermine Road, then 7 Mile Rim Trail, then Wipeout Hill. Very climby, temperatures beginning to be noticed. I peeled off the leg and arm warmers, slugged water and electrolytes, and mixed up a fresh bottle of food. Another beautiful, rugged chunk of terrain. Got to hwy 313 at about mile 42 starting to feel a little bit mortal.

Then it was 5 miles of grinding into the wind up the pavement. This was some of the worst of the day actually. Seemed much longer than 5 miles, and I was tired of the flat pavement almost immediately. I was really happy to see the Gemini Bridges Road heading back down toward Moab.

As I left 313, I pulled out my queue sheet for the first time. I just hadn't needed it yet, between other riders being around and copious blue flagging. But I needed to know just how far it was down this road to the start of Metal Masher. I pulled out the queue sheet and it came apart in my hands. I had sweated on a seam of the folded paper and it tore easily as I pulled it from my jersey pocket. Luckily it tore right down the center, so I needed to look at two different pieces of paper to get the complete queue description for the rest of the day.

But it was easy to tell that I needed to go 4 miles to the left turn that starts Seven Mile Rim/Metal Masher. Off I went, with a crowd of junior high kids swerving down the road on crappy bikes that had been shuttled up to descend the Gemini Bridges Road. Shortly my turn came and it was time to suffer climbing up to Seven Mile Rim.

I ran into Matt and Cat sitting in the shade drinking water and swallowing electrolytes. It was really pretty hot by that time, or at least the sun was shining hard. It was around 2 or 3 pm, and as I told them, I was feeling pretty mortal. I passed them sitting, and then 2 minutes later they caught me and passed me. I was really crawling right then.

Seemed like it took much longer than I remembered to get through that bit and back to the Gemini Bridges Road. I was trying to make it to the beginning of the Gold Bar Rim Trail before 4 PM, and it looked like I had pretty good slack on that, but I kept not getting to the end of Metal Masher.

Eventually I made it to Gemini, and shortly after that descended to the turn-off for Bull Canyon Road. Around this time I started crossing paths with a dude that I later learned was Josh Tostado. He's a majorly fast pro rider who apparently had started the race late. Both of us were confused about the route. I took a wrong turn after referring to my (ripped) queue sheet several times. As I concluded that I was going the wrong way and was riding back out, I met Josh who was on his way into where I had just gone. I explained to him that I'd seen bike tracks that circled back and headed out, he agreed that we must have missed a turn. He turned back and I followed him, and after a minute I saw him point right at an intersection and then go that way. When I got there I saw the blue flagging and went that way as well.

That was the last I saw of Josh Tostado.

But soon I did catch up to Adam Lisonbee. Adam and I have known each other for a year or so. During last year's Vapor Trail we found that we pace together pretty naturally. Adam climbs better than I do and I descend a little faster, but it usually washes out to where we leapfrog all day. That had been happening all day yesterday. We had ridden together and talked several times.

Adam was riding with a GPS with the course loaded. And he had pre-ridden almost all of it. He explained things to me that I did not know. And he warned me about a trail up ahead called the Golden Spike-blue dot trail, how it was hard to follow. He also explained that we had not yet reached the final bailout point, one marked on the queue sheet with a warning not to continue the course if you reach it after 4 PM. It was about 3:45 at this point, and we were not yet to that intersection. I remember thinking that Adam might be a good dude to keep nearby. I also had assumed we'd already passed the bailout I thought that I'd been there with half an hour of slack. Nope. Hmmm.

We got to the intersection with the Gold Bar Rim trail. It was by my watch 3:53. I was tired, but feeling OK. Adam and I talked, and both of us were a little concerned about the time, but neither was willing to just give up and DNF. As Adam said, "there's no reason I can't do this." Off we went past the point of no return.

Adam fell back right away, and I decided that I just had to move at my pace. Adam was free to turn back just as I was. But I really wanted to finish this thing. Soon I got to the bottom of an endless slab of canted sandstone. I started to granny gear up it, but quickly found that it was too steep. I got off and started marching next to my bike. Turns out that I marched for about an hour. I looked back several times to see if Adam was close behind. I couldn't see him, and it felt like I could see pretty darned far. I felt pretty sure that he was not back there, and that I was on my own. Fair enough. That's the game we're playing here.

I couldn't believe how high I marched up before I found the right turn to the Golden Spike Trail, another 4wd route. Right away I crossed a ledge and gap where a kid who looked less than 17 seemed hopelessly stuck trying to get his Jeep Cherokee up onto the ledge. His rear tires were just turning with a chattering screech. Seemed like getting up on that ledge was pretty much required for getting out of there. Good luck kid.

Golden Spike was a mix of traversing and climbs that made me walk. It was supposed to be 3 miles to the beginning of the blue dot singletrack. I was having a hard time judging distance by time, because I was moving incredibly slow. I wished I had brought my GPS just to help me with distance. I left it behind because the battery is only good for about 7 hours. Live and learn.

After what seemed like an incredibly long time on Golden Spike, the road lead right up to the rim, and I found myself looking down off a shear cliff to Moab, thousands of feet below. I had never seen the turn onto the singletrack, which was supposed to be a left even though that made little sense to me. It was 6 o'clock. Less than 2 hours of daylight left.

I started to freak. There was a faint singletrack going to the right from this rim, but it was supposed to be a left. And there was no blue ribbon. And it did not show at all on my Latitude 40 map. And I was burning daylight. Not much time to flail, I needed to figure this out!

I desperately fought the urge to panic. But I was really loosing my cool. Going back seemed like a huge undertaking, and it would have been! There should have been only 20 or so miles of course ahead of me, and obviously most of it would be down, since the finish was Moab and I could clearly see that Moab was down! If I had had a parachute I might have seriously considered using it.

Even though I hated to go back down something I had already bothered to climb, I felt that I had no choice but to find a blue ribbon marker and then search for the one that lead to the intersection. I must have missed something!

As I headed down, what do you think I saw? Adam Lisonbee! I almost hugged him. I don't think I've ever been as happy to see anyone. I was babbling incoherently about how the queue sheet made no sense and there weren't any blue flags...

Adam took it all in, but he seemed very calm. The reality is that he was calm, because he was too tired and worked to be anything but calm. We climbed the quarter mile back to the rim and he calmly explained to me that the faint trail to the right was our trail. We started riding it, and lo and behold! There were blue dots!

I didn't find the blue dot trail all that hard to follow. It reminded me of do-it-yourself trails from around Salida. It was full of crazy double drops from boulder to boulder, super tight switchbacks, gaps between rocks that were too tight for my big handlebars to pass through--but we were on the route! Adam saved my butt!

Here's a picture of him on the blue dot trail:


This is the man who saved my bacon

Shortly Adam and I made it to the Poison Spider jeep road. All we had to do was follow that out to the Potash Road, then it was pavement all the way back to Moab. I knew then that I was not going to spend the night lost in the desert. This made me very happy. I decided that Adam and I would finish together (unless he dropped me).

Poison Spider was much farther, much more work, and much more technical than I remembered. But it had been probably 15 years since I last rode up here. It took a really long time. It got dark on us. Eventually Craig Tuttle and another Matt (not my friend last seen on Seven Mile Rim) caught us. Craig is a local, so he knew some short cuts for getting back to Potash Road with a little less beach sand. We all turned on lights and started down the last half hour of Poison Spider in increasingly dark darkness.

At about 8:30 Craig, Matt, and I made it to Potash. Adam was still up there, so I told Craig and Matt to go on to Moab and let people know that Adam and I would be in shortly. Maybe 10 minutes after Matt and Craig left Adam showed, and he and I spun up the Potash Road to Moab. It was about 9:15 when we got there. That was just fine. Down. Done.

We don't do these things because they are routine. This one was not routine. It was friggin' hard. Mentally, physically. But what memories.

For the record, I'm kind of tired of sandstone.

tPOD II

Without further ado, allow me to introduce tPOD II:



I know that everybody out there in TV Land has been anxious for a look at the new vagabond rig. Here she is.

Here's a shot of her all puffed up and ready for inhabitants:



But now it's time to get ready for tomorrow's Rim Ride Moab! Wish me luck.

San Ysidro Dirty Century

Cool event. Really cool people. Really interesting country. Really gusty wind.

Kind of a misnomer though, it was 123 miles.

This is the first New Mexico Endurance Series event I've done, but not the first I've wanted to do. As expected, it was really a cool ride.

We started from the Turtle Mountain Brewery parking lot a few minutes after 7 AM before the sun came up, with the thermometer sitting at around 35° fahrenheit. Yep, chilly. Still and clear, but chilly for sure.

We rolled west out of Rio Rancho on pavement for 30 or 40 minutes, then turned north on one of those good old fashioned western gas-line/ranch roads. You know the kind--straight as a line, horizon to horizon. The kind we love to suffer on. This one is known as the Encino Road. As the riders strung out, we made for the NGCS (Natural Gas Compressor Station) roughtly 20 miles out there in the high desert north of ABQ.

At the NGCS there were the stems of two cherry-stem loops. To the east was the White Mesa trails loop. The start of the singletrack was about 8 miles east on dirt road (this one has curves!)

The White Mesa singletrack was quite a treat. It's really unusual and beautiful. I did not have my camera, since I'd packed my pack with every bit of food, water, clothing, and et cetera that I would need for the whole day. The organizers set up a drop bag support system, and there was plenty of cached water I could have poached, but I'm getting ready for the Rim Ride Moab, so I was kit testing. The camera did not make the cut.

Anyhoo, here's a picture of White Mesa I poached from my co-worker, Jennie:


Photo courtesy of John Evaskovich

It was a blast. Or at least I think it was. So much more riding happened after I left White Mesa, it seems kind of like a distant memory.

On the way back to NGCS I happened to notice that a little breeze had come up. You know the kind, where you're shifting down as you go downhill to keep from being blown backwards? It was rockin', and by the time I got back to the Junction I was thinking maybe I should just bag the other loop and head back to town. For the life of me I could not think of what I would do with the rest of my afternoon. It was only 1 o'clock, so I said WTF, and headed north on the Encino Road to circle Cabezon Peak.

Farther out onto the horizon on straight-line gas road. Much of this was passing through the stark, khaki-colored, peaceful-in-it's-simplicity desert terrain so typical of this part of the world. The high desert. The llano. Nothing to obscure the horizon, where there are mesas or more llano to be seen. And nothing to block the wind.

Oh baby was she blowin' now. At 11 o'clock when I was working my way back west from White Mesa, it was windy. But by early afternoon it was windy.
About 7 miles north of the NGCS I turned west onto the Ridge Road and started a mild, winding climb into the wind. A few miles up and I met with the junction that was the start of the loop.

Cabezon Peak looked really far away. Really far to the north. Hmmm, I guess this is a big loop? I looked at my watch. About 2 PM. Well, you never know 'til you know. No better time to find out how far it is than right now. Heck, I have lights.

So off I went, with a song in my heart and a taste of wind howling in my ears. The Ridge Road went north and west, and it was fun with lots of downhill bits and swerves. And the wind, which by now was coming out of the southwest, was more or less at my back. Of course, good cyclists know that having a tailwind on the way out doesn't necessarily mean you'll have one on the way back.

Then it was down and down and down off the ridge, until I crossed the Rio Puerco. After that it was time to turn south. That was when I came to be at one with the wind. We fought each other bravely, but I think the wind had a bit of an advantage.

Oddly, that bit of grinding into the wind found me in a strangely good mood. I'm at a loss to explain it. Perhaps it was the Red Bull I chugged as I started the loop? It took some time, and it took its toll; and I'd be lying if I didn't say I was thrilled to turn east at 2 thirds of the loop and start heading back to the junction with Ridge Road, but it was OK. I shook my fist at Cabezon Peak a few times, but not in a bad, mean way.

Then, as if I was waking from a dream, I found myself back at the straight, straight Encino Road. Time to go back. Back to the Turtle Mountain Brewery, where I will order a hamburger. Back to where my truck and it's cargo, tPOD II are parked. "How far is it?", I think to myself. Far, I'm guessing. I have a queue sheet somewhere, buried in my pack, but I don't really want to know the specifics, actually. Really no choice but to ride it. Doesn't really matter how far, just matters that I get started and keep going until I'm there.

So off I go. Feeling pretty good to the NGCS, which I remember was a bit over 7 miles. The wind is now crossing, which is a friggin' blessing. Seems like it's shifted from southwest to west. Which is very good for my tired bones. If it had been a full-on headwind, I might still be out there; with ravens plucking my eyeballs and tongue out of my head.

As I'm riding past the NGCS I recall the long, long stretch on the way out from town where I was in the big ring for like half an hour. Hmmm. Maybe that's not so good. Turns out it's not. The climbing was not very steep, but I had so little fire left in my belly--I started to really suffer. My food strategy had been working great so far. But now, 10 hours out, I started feeling crappy.

I broke the cardinal rule, trying something new on a big ride day. But I had brought lots of backup stuff, so I figured it would be safe. The new thing was mixing Rice Protein in with my HEED. It had been great, really, but now I was starting to feel dehydrated, and I was having trouble continuing to eat. After a couple years of doing this crap, I've finally learned to pay close attention when my nourishment starts to suffer when there are still hours of riding before I'm done and home.

I slowed down but didn't stop, drank sips of water every few minutes, gradually slipped in some Hammer Gel, and eventually started feeling better. About the time I staggered up to the top of the climb, I was able to start drinking my protein solution again. Then as I got some glimpses of Rio Rancho below me. I finally started feeling a little happy again.

When I was able to start using my big ring--then I got quite a bit happier. Before I knew it, I was back at the pavement of Southern Boulevard. Then I was big-ringing it, downhill and downwind on pavement, only stopping for stoplights. Just before 7 PM I walked into Turtle Mountain Brewery, found event honcho Lenny sitting behind a tasty-looking pizza with a clipboard next to him. I watched him check off my name and write down the time, then I went back to tPOD II, put on clothing with zero rubber content, and returned to order my hamburger.

Another one for the record books.

what is it with me leaving Colorado?

Man, every time I decide to go somewhere warmer lately I have to fight my way out! It was snowing so hard mid-day on Friday when I left, I swept off my windshield, went inside to grab one more thing, came out 2 minutes later and there was too much snow accumulated for the wipers to deal with. Once I got over Poncha Pass things got better, but then I came into monster wind when I crossed the New Mexico border.



I was carrying my new (to me) camper on the back of the T100. We got rocked all the way down to Albuquerque.

Pictures of tPOD II will be forthcoming.

Oh so ready to go

For the last couple weeks I've been giving the Lev some lovin'. During the 24 in the Old Pueblo she developed a brain-numbing creak that kept other riders from wanting to be around me. It was a nice constant drumbeat that kept me alert and aware, but by the time I finished up it was pretty much the first thing I wanted to address when I got back to the shop in Salida.



Über-wrench Scot and I tore her down when time became available (mountain town bike shop in winter--didn't take long for that to happen). Among other things we discovered that the sealed bearings in the main pivot were toast. She's seen some miles since we got together early last summer. By the end of October I had put in 700 miles just during races. I can add up another 700 just thinking of special long recreational and training rides. Then throw in another 200 at Old Pueblo, after dousing her with rain and snow twice in the weeks leading up... None of that counts normal ride rides. Creek crossings. And lots of wet days. Look at what our monsoon season was like in '07!

Every pivot got attention, new bushings and reducers from Fox, new chain, shift cables and housing... Now she's like buttah.

Anyhoo, I'm getting amped up for the San Ysidro Dirty Century next weekend! Weather is looking dry down there, and in the 70s. Sweet Fancy Moses! It's almost too good to be true. Cannot wait.

Heading down Friday. Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy.

I have been training. The snow race was a durned good workout, then I've done probably 5 road rides per week (most of them utterly bundled up to deal with temps in the 30s with wind).

Could it be that I could actually have perspiration? I can only hope.

Leadville Snow Bike Race #3

I was in Arizona when race #2 went down. The Tennessee Pass Night Jam happened at the Tennessee Pass Nordic Center. Sounds like it was really cool.

I did roll up there for #3 yesterday, which was on the Mineral Belt Trail. A good time, of course. Bluebird day, big time.

In contrast to race #1, a guy could actually pedal this one almost the whole way. Sterling had gotten the trail groomed Friday. Temps have been higher and the sun has been shining, so the consistency of the groomed trail was a bit crispy (at first), It rolled like a soft dirt road for the most part, but there were softer spots.

The day was just beautiful. Not a cloud, felt much warmer than it was.

As the race went on, the temperature and strong sunshine started affecting the trail consistency. Just like a spring skiing day--crispy in the morning, softer and softer as the day went on.

In about the last 10% of the course, the snow suddenly became mushy enough to be like beach sand with flat tires. Our tracks did not show that we were sinking, but the rolling resistance got to be really high. I slogged with my singlespeed. I'm not sure that a gear change would have even helped though, it was just hard work. And the sun was shining. I sweated like a pig. I had to walk a few times on flat ground just to avoid cardiac arrest. And then there was the finish!

Dave knows what I'm talking about:


Dave rolls to the finish (looks easier than it was--that snow was soggy).


Dave allows himself to topple over after crossing the line. Nice place to wind down--and breath!

Lunch after the awards at High Mountain Pies, which was excellent.

2008 Old Pueblo

Another one has gone into the past. Great race, and one helluva weekend.

If you've been following my blog you know that a huge weather system that left around 1" of moisture moved through the area down there between Thursday evening and Saturday morning.

Saturday morning dawned foggy. The hope was that the fog would burn off mid-morning and the race would start in sunshine. But it just did not seem to be happening. During the riders' meeting before the race it was chilly and clammy. Not really foggy, but really low overcast cloud cover.

As we lined up, the clouds started to break up, and magically, the sun shone through just as the starting gun went off. Amazing.

The first lap took place on a pretty soggy course. Remarkably, there weren't many patches that were terribly messy, but there were a few. I rode that first lap in heavy traffic. Passing was not really possible, and not practical anyway. Passing one racer would just put you immediately behind another one. So we pretty much rode it in a solid line.

My left knee had been a real source of worry for me prior to the race. It was pretty stiff and gimpy. But once I started riding, it felt fine. Not so good when I got off the bike to do anything, but I was pedaling fine with it.

My camp was just at the base of Wahoo Rock. At the end of that first lap I took the "ride the rock" option and did a little trick for the crowd that always forms to watch riders there. I did a little hop at the top and then landed on the slant and swooped off and right into my camp.


Me dropping down Wahoo during the '07 race (see that compressed fork?) No pictures of it from this year.

Back at the camper I grabbed a fresh bottle of HEED and rolled on down to the start/finish tent for lap 2.

Lap 2 was an actual race lap. I was still fresh, I was trying to stay off the throttle, but I was rolling pretty well. It was a good, tight lap. Then I got to the end and went to ride the rock.

This time I thought it would be a good idea to really show the crowd how Colorado rolls. So this time I went huge. A brought some momentum to the edge, then leaped the biggest bunny hop I could as I headed over the edge. It really was huge too. I landed with a really good head of steam, yanked my bars up to make the transition to the flat. The runout at the bottom of the rock is good. There is just one rock that you need to miss. I did a poor job of missing it.

I crashed nice and big, over the bars. When my front hit the rock I heard the tire get contorted and start leaking immediately. I landed on what seemed to be my left shoulder blade. I lay flat on my back in the dirt, silently cursing myself for the sin of pride. Dumbass. Then I rolled up onto my feet and the crowd cheered. They got a show anyway.

Immediately I could tell that I'd done a little damage to my rib cage some way or other. Breathing caused a little shot of pain. Deep breaths even more so.

My front tire continued to leak noisily as I headed over to my camper. I had been running a pair of Bontrager Dry-X TR, tubeless with the Hutchinson goop. They were quite wonderful for the conditions. But now the front looked like it was done for--probably sidewall pinch cut. So I switched out to my spare wheel which had a WTB Weirwolf LT mounted. It had way too much pressure in it so I bled out a bunch.

During lap three I humbled myself down. I gave myself a serious talking-to about being a dumbass. I slowed down and mentally prepared myself to actually race for another 21 hours. I also wondered about my bike. The steering felt sluggish and felt like it was pulling a bit to the left. I wondered if I had tweaked the fork or something more serious when I piled into that rock.

When I got back to pit, after carefully dropping off the rock. I asked my friend Sean McGuinness to look it over for any cracks or oddities. He checked my tire pressure and the front was way low. I had bled out far too much. He pumped it up to about 30 psi for me and I headed back out. Felt fine from then on.

But baby, did that bike creak! Must have been the getting rained on. I had been riding it a bunch in the weeks before the race and it had been fine. But during the race a squeaky-creaky noise developed until it was totally obnoxious. As Sean said, "isn't that what full-suspension geared bikes are supposed to do?"

At the end of lap 3 the lights went on. I needed them for maybe the last 20 minutes of that 4th lap. I didn't need to put on any warmer clothes until around midnight.

Until dawn, the story was pretty uneventful. I did laps. I listened to coyotes and owls. A jackrabbit with 6" ears ran in front of me. It got colder. Eventually little sparkles of frost formed on cactus, grass, dirt. Then as dawn approached the frost got fatter and whiter.

I rode some really good night laps. Often a solo racer is visited by demons in those wee hours. I was having a blast. I was tired, but not so that I was slowing way down. I just kept rolling, eating, drinking, breathing...

The cold was only a problem just after I left the start/finish tent and headed out onto the course. The first 2 miles or so was fast downhill singletrack. During every night lap I just froze on that bit. I would think that I should have put on more clothes, or that I might have to stop to put my jacket on. Then I would start the harder work part of the course and everything would even out. I finally concluded that dressing to be confortable during those first 10 minutes would mean being overdressed for the rest of the lap, which would mean sweating. So I just planned for the first part of each lap to be uncomfortable.

Usually dawn gives me a boost. This time however dawn coincided with a breakdown in my eathing strategy. Around the middle of the lap, just before the sun actually cleared the horizon, my camp-mate Mark McDaniel came up behind me to wish me good morning. Just about then, my ass started dragging. It was bonk, coming to visit. I had been pretty much surviving on HEED, HammerGel, and Hammer Bars since the excellent bowl of beef stew Mark's wife Amanda and mother-in-law Jane had given me at around 10 the night before. And the hammer diet had been working really well. But suddenly my body was done with it. My jaw was slack and I had that thousand-yard stare.

I slogged through the rest of that 11th lap, got to camp, and Amanda had just finished frying the bacon. She made me three scrambled eggs, three pieces of bacon, and two pancakes. My body was so thankful. It turned the whole thing around for me.

I headed out to bag two more laps and achieve my goal, happy, well-fed, energized.

When I was in the last 20 minutes of that 12th lap, my front tire got soggy. It was one of those 24-hour-racer moments. I got really bummed out and said, "that's it! Now I'm done!" I tried to put some air in it to see if the sealent would just seal it up, but could hardly get the pump to work. I had left my pack with the CO2 behind so all I had was the pump. I pushed my bike for 5 minutes muttering about my poor luck.

Finally it occurred to me that I should actually take the tire off the rim and see if I could see what was making it go flat. Grudgingly I took the wheel off, pulled the tire, and right away I saw a big cactus thorn in there. "Well there you are!" I said to myself. I pulled the thorn, put it all back together and pumped it up. I jumped on and rode for 100 feet before it was flat again.

Damn! Damn my luck!

It took me perhaps another 5 minutes to pull my head out of my butt and actually pull the tire off, find every single thorn in it (maybe 20?) then put it back in and air it up. A good Samaritan showed up offering a CO2 shot, which I accepted. Then with a hard tire I rolled up the climb at the end of the course.

When I got back to camp, I had pretty much figured that I was done. I was tired. What did I really need to do another lap for? What, go get another flat maybe?

Amanda McDaniel is the reason I went out for that last one. I don't remember exactly what she said, but it was something like, "Oh Tom, you have plenty of time to do another lap. Why not just do it?" She was right. I had no answer to that question other than, yeah, you're right.

So that's what I did. Thirteen laps. Met my goal of riding more than 200 miles. That was my goal at Old Pueblo last year, and I missed it by 10 miles. This year I did it.

Feels good.

After Math

Just a quick post before I head down the highway towards home. My Old Pueblo race was excellent. I achieved my goal of 13 laps, just over 200 miles. The results on the web site said that my partner did a lap, but she wasn't here.

I was called up to take the 5th place trophy for co-ed duo, but I forfeited since it was against the rules to compete in duo without having a partner do any laps. It would have been 8th place if I'd been in men's solo as I wanted to.

I'm tired and sore of course, but very content. Talk to y'all soon.

Tom P the tired.

The Big Mushy

Last night around midnight it start to rain cats and dogs. A little unofficial catch basin outside the camper caught at least half and inch of water. The road in here is almost impassable. I've heard some horror stories from those who have arrived this morning.


Friday mid-morning just before the big snow flakes started flying.

The venue is packed, and there are lots of moist tent campers and lots of warm and content RV campers. But the mood around my camp is great. We have new neighbors from Tucson and Phoenix, some from Taos and Santa Fe, and another from Boulder City, NV. Good neighbors all of them.

If the moisture doesn't keep up, there will be a fast packed course. Lots of it will be like a steel rail. If it keeps up, there will be mashed potato consistence.

I probably won't post another report until it's all over. Wish me luck!

Land Rush is On

The 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo is still a couple of days away but already there are hundreds of established camps. Almost all the really good real estate has already been snapped up, and a few boundary disputes have been noted.

Normally Thursday night is when the real land rush gets resolved. From my memory, last night was about the equivalent of last year's Thursday night.


Tuesday afternoon from up on Wahoo.


Thursday morning from the same rock.

Today is pretty durned windy, and there's a system due to move through here sometime in the next 18 hours. It's not too cold, but not shorts weather either.

Yesterday afternoon I had a pleasent surprise when my good friend Sean McGuiness and his friend Lee rolled off Wahoo Rock, saw me standing around look goofy behind the camper and came over to say hey. I don't think I knew Sean was going to be here, Great and Happy Surprise!

Last night I put on lights and did a little shake out night ride. And before I'd ridden 5 minutes I shook myself right off the bike and onto a barrel cactus. DUMBASS! Very lucky to only have gotten two spines in me, but I did tweak my left knee a little. DUMBASS! I think it'll be fine by Saturday. A little tender this morning. DUMBASS! Kind of like driving on ice for the first time of the year--you have to remember that you'll need to slow down a little. DUMBASS!

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

Blogap.

Sorry I haven't posted for a while. Been up to things. Shot over to California to ride the Tour de Palm Springs with my dad and sisters. It's a spectacle, with near 10,000 riders. I did the century, there are also 55 and 25 mile options.



Now I'm back in Willow Springs. The Venue is filling really fast this year! It's Tuesday and already many of the killer spots are spoken for. I know already that Chad Brown will be one of my next-door neighbors.

I had the honor today of doing racecourse trail maintenance with Phil, creator and maintainer of much of this little slice of heaven for over 10 years. We did some very good things. Water control for the most part. Of course my little contribution today adds up to about 4% of what Phil has already done this season.

It's beautiful. About 68, sunny, little breeze, no clouds. One of those days when you sit in the shade with sunglasses on and a cool drink.

Four days until race day! Woo Hoo!

Clear and Calm

Today has dawned sweet, sunny, and cold with white sleet everywhere. It'll warm up soon. Then it'll be time to ride again.

Cold Day in Heaven

OK, I needed a rest. I rode 160 miles in the four days I've been here. Both of the last two mornings, my quads have been pretty creaky. Of course that's the best I think I can do in terms of training for a 24 hour when I only rode a trainer for most of December and January--put the hurt on as far in advance as possible, then just try to keep getting rides in so that at least my body is relatively used to riding again. I know I'm not going to be optimally trained. But even if I start out a little tired on race day, I'm better off having shocked my system than to just get up off the couch and ride it.

So Monday I knew some weather was supposed to be on the way. I headed to town Sunday afternoon to stock up on provisions and then figured I would just lay around reading Monday, maybe take a little walk.

Weather came. Boy howdy. I woke up this morning to gusty wind blowing rain. It came in squalls during most of the morning. Then at about lunchtime it turned to sleet, then big fat snowflakes.



All day, wind, rain, snow and sleet on and off; sometimes really harsh.

Just at sunset blue sky appeared overhead. There's still plenty of weather all around, and I know better than to assume that we're done getting barfed on here at Willow Springs, but it still make for a glamorous ending to a really nasty day. It's going to get REALLY cold tonight.



(Click here for a wide panorama view of the view east at sunset).

I'm nearly all the way through my book.

Out There

Saturday morning the racer boys started pouring in to Willow Springs Ranch to ride the course. I can ride the course during the week when it's deserted, and in fact did ride it for much of Friday. So I decided to take a long adventure. I rolled out of camp on my singlespeed at around 10:45 and headed north on the Willow Springs Road out into the empty desert.

After I left the venue I saw nobody at all for over an hour. When I did see someone it was a cowboy in a pickup truck. I rode about 12 miles to the intersection with the Freeman Road, and east/west dirt thoroughfare that can take you deeper into the desert. I went east to find the place where the Arizona Trail intersects Freeman.

Last year I did this then road the AZ Trail south for hours, all the way to Oracle, then back to camp via highway 77 and the Willow Springs Road. That was something like an 11-hour ride. Today Phil and June urged me to ride the trail north. So that's what I did, and it was a treat!

At first I followed some renegade dirt bike tracks. It was either two-strokes or they were making a point; lots of roto-tilled trail. Not all bad though I guess, since that trail does not see much traffic, and parts of it have grass growing in the tread. Then there was a brief doubletrack section, and from there it just got better and better. I went out and back about 9 miles. About 6 miles from Freeman it got really good; nice rhythmic singlespeed trail.



When my GPS odometer read 25 miles I turned around. I had meant to have a more leisurely ride, a nice aerobic spin. But then the adventure of never seen trail took over. By the time I got back to Freeman I was feeling worked. And I had 15 miles at least of return trip.

I got back to camp with about 5.5 hours of saddle time. The hamburgers tasted REALLY good.

Old Pueblo Race Course Day, Evening Slide Show

Friday I had the pleasure of riding a lap of the OP course with friends, one of whom is a German man named Walter who is 69 years old, has toured on his bike all over the western US, and is signed up to solo the 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo.

We rode a sociable lap together, then I grabbed my GPS and carefully rode an official lap so that I could get the new course's distance and map it. There are two sections of singletrack which will be joined to bypass a bit of service road that has traditionally been part of the course.

By my measurements, the course change will add about a mile and a quarter. But more importantly, one of the sections of trail "His" (the other section is called "Hers") is very twisty. I have found myself skidding and blowing out of a few distinct hairpin turns almost every time I've ridden it. And not because I was going terribly fast--these turns are super tight, and they appear suddenly. I need to ride that bit pretty often in the next two weeks to get dialed to how quickly it can be ridden without loss of control. It's much more strenuous to blow out of a turn than it is to corner smoothly through it.



After my 35 or so miles of singletrack riding Friday, I was invited to join a little dinner party with a slide show after. I brought half a dozen bratwursts from my stash, but the dinner went way beyond that. Grilled chicken breasts, salad, tasty corn relish, scalloped potatoes, and then some of the best chocolate cake I've ever had smothered in vanilla ice cream.

Six of us packed into a little box trailer and Walter showed us about a hundred of his photos from bike travels around the west on June and Phil's TV. It was a really fun; lots of laughing.

I flopped at 10 o'clock, amazingly late for desert camping in winter. I usually don't see 9 o'clock. The large dinner and full day laid me out, and I slept until after 8 am. I woke to a beautiful calm morning, the second one in a row.

I scream you scream we all scream for ass cream

I left Salida with a very comprehensive set of stuff. Bikes, tools, lights, warm weather clothing, cold weather clothing, food, etc. But I did not bring a single bike water bottle, nor did I bring a single gel flask. I needed to go to a bike shop, but I didn't want to do any more driving after running winter's gauntlet getting out of Colorado and through raw New Mexico.

So today I jumped on my Lenz and rode 22 miles to Oro Valley Cycles just south of Catalina, AZ. It took me about 90 minutes to get there, and I dropped about 1200 feet of elevation. Sure, most of it was highway shoulder riding, but that's really what I needed. A long-ish day of aerobic riding was just what I needed to loosen up and leave that drive behind me.



When I got back to Willow Springs I rode half the race course for good measure. So it wound up being a nearly 47-mile day, and nearly 4 hours of saddle time. Of course I forgot to bring food on my ride. I had one hammer bar and then just clear water. I bought two clif shots at the bike shop, but for the most part it was a classic long-steady day. No intensity, borderline starvation.

But more important, I forgot to lube up my chamois before I left. Just a little discomfort down there. Ouchies from not having spent much time on a bike for a while. But it's OK, I need to build up my ass callus anyway.

Tomorrow I'll have some fun!

Out of Colorado's Icy Clutches

Wednesday I woke up early and started getting my poop in a group so that I could leave Salida before lunchtime. I loaded up my truck--probably half of everything I own went in there. A friend was very kind to loan me a popup camper, and I was carefully packing stuff into the nooks and crannies. It was clearly going to be a pretty heavy load.

At 8:30 I went to my yoga class. It let out at 10. They day was looking good for travel. The report was for something to roll in later in the day, but I figured I'd be safely down in New Mexico before that happened.

I finally rolled at a little before 11. On my very last trip out of my apartment, I stepped onto the zamboni ice in front of my place; the same ice I had been walking over carrying stuff all morning. This time I slipped and went ass over tea-kettle. Bam, I landed on my right elbow and tweaked that shoulder. Fuggin' winter!

Poncha Pass was snowy, and the road from the Pass to Villa Grove, CO was snowpacked and slick. I took my time. After I got down a little lower the roads became just a little moist with ice on the edges. I could see down into the San Luis Valley and there were some suspicious-looking dark grey clouds down there. Hmmm.



I got to Alamosa and filled up with gas as a gnarly cold wind chilled me to the bone. Yeah, go ahead and blow you stinkin' winter wind! I'm going to Arizona!

The crosswind was ripping as I made my way south. A half hour south of Alamosa I crossed the New Mexico border, and found that the road maintenance had been remarkably different down there. As I passed to the east of San Antonio Mountain, gateway to the rural elk-crossing country of northern NM, a ground blizzard screamed across the slick highway.

As I got closer to Espanola, NM, the snow abated, but a gusty wind continued. As I headed up the climb to Santa Fe there was the snow again; big fat flakes driven by the persistent hard wind. Once I hit I-25 the snow stopped, but the wind doubled! On Tuesday I'd drilled my truck's quarter panels for cleats to hold the tie-downs for the camper. The wind driving into the passenger side rocked the whole rig, and I kept watching the turnbuckle in my rear view. Could something like this straighten the hook out? Could it be enough force to flip a half ton of camper with another 250 pounds worth of cargo in it off the bed?

Dang. Winter really doesn't want to see me get out of here!

All the way down I-25 the wind was on and off. At times it would slack and I would think, ìgreat, I've finally driven out of it.î Then it would come up again, rocking the truck to the left.

I cut over from Hatch to Deming at about 9 PM. I'd been thinking about maybe parking the camper and crashing in the Wal-Mart parking lot in Deming. But I figured that would be not very restful with the wind howling like that. So I downed a Red Bull, put another gob of gas in the tank (I was burning it way too fast), and pointed it right into the shank of the wind roaring out of the west. A stretch of I-10 that should have taken three hours took nearly four, and cost me over a half tank of gas, but finally I pulled into Tucson after midnight and headed up to Willow Springs to try for a few hours of sleep and then set up for some cram training.



16 days to the Old Pueblo race--can I establish a usable endurance base in that amount of time?

Leadville Snow Bike Race

You have to try this to know what it's like.

Racing in the snow is another flavor of kick in the pants. This time of year, bikey people like me often can use this sort of kick.

I rolled up to Pb-town first thing Saturday morning, paid my entry fee, got my number, and started putting on clothing. The dressing took a notable amount of time. Who knew that I was going to be sweating like that? I think I could have worn a t-shirt and shorts.

Well, almost. I did do about half a dozen full catapults into the bottomless snow next to the snow machine tracks we were flailing through.

This racer shows you what it's about--trying to go in a straight line!



I was out on the 11-mile course for a little under 2 hours. A volunteer told me I was in 14th place somewhere in the middle of my suffering, and I wound up passing two riders before the finish, so I'm guessing 12th?

There was some snow-packed road, but the real contest was the snow-machine tracks. Any incline and I was walking, as was anyone else I saw out there. Level ground was sometimes rideable, sometimes just a staggering slog. The downhills were a hoot. The bike won't go straight. It just will not. As you pick up speed the front wheel wiggles all over the place. Arms and shoulders get very tired wrangling with the handlebars, balance muscles get a workout too. Sometimes things go supercritical and you wind up pointing off the track, and that means the whole front of the bike dives deep into the soft snow and you follow it there.

Good fun. Good warmup for the riding I'll be doing when I head to AZ this week (woo hoo!). I intend to put in some good long rides to try to coax a bit of endurance out of my body in advance of the 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo.

See all you happy people who will be there February 16!

Another year.

Just like anyone, as December ends and January starts I get a dose of awareness of time passing. Short days and long nights give us plenty of time for introspection. And of course new year begins, but according to an arbitrary definition. Shouldn't the year begin at the vernal equinox, when there’s renewal of life?

I was born in early January so the feeling of time passing this time of year is doubly acute. It’s birthday time! Oh goody!

I'm into my 5th year of mid-life crisis, and I've become pretty much comfortable with it. Unfortunately I don't have a BMW Z4 or a 19-year-old trophy girlfriend.

Soon I’ll be in my mid-40s(!), but my internal self is somewhere between 28 and 33. The illusion is only shattered when I wind up in front of a mirror. I avoid mirrors. (Any cute 19-year-old girls out there reading this, drop me a line. Let's talk. I might be willing to lease a Z4 if that would make any difference!)

My new normal is defiance against acting my age. For 2008, my immaturity will again manifest itself in a flurry of endurance bike riding. 2007 was by far my most accomplished endurance riding year so far. In 2007 I redefined the boundaries of what I consider possible in terms of endurance cycling. Definitely makes me feel more like I’m 30.

Lots of changes rolled at me in '07. Becoming accustomed to being unmarried is going pretty well. The total freedom that comes with it is exhilarating while also being a little scary. After operating in a partnership for most of my adult life, I now can do whatever I want within the bounds of my financial means without discussion, consensus, compromise, or approval. It's almost like I’m 18!

Beyond my intent to keep riding like a lunatic, I intend to become an inept telemark skier in winter of '08. I think I have what it takes to achieve true mediocrity in that sport.

Salida is having another real winter so far, but this year I intend to ride it out rather than run away. In February I'll be doing at least a road century and a duo 24-hour race (missed my chance to register as solo at the Old Pueblo. Doh!)

Here's the desperate measure I'm taking to stay somewhat fit for those bikey efforts:



Tom P: committed to not taking myself too seriously in 2008.

craigslist giveth, and craigslist taketh away

About a year ago, I was separating from my ex and I needed a place to live. I did not really want a place to live in Salida, since winter's hammer was coming down and I wanted to be getting ready for my first 24 hour solo, not shoveling snow and shivering the long nights away. So I went out onto craigslist, and soon the legend of the tPOD was born.

I lived in that little sucker for 10 months. We were down in Arizona during January and February, then squatting rent-free for the rest of '07 here in the upper Arkansas River Valley.



I hauled her out to Moab for the 24 hours, but then on the first of November I rented an apartment and she was mothballed. Today my craigslist ad brought me a willing buyer. And officially, the era of the tPOD has come to a close.

Once I'd spent a week in a dwelling with no wheels under it, I knew I would never be able to live for a long term in that little box again. And it's quite a chunk of weight for my T100 to haul just for vacations. And then there's the fact that $3/gallon now seems like a good price for gas.

So that's that.

I haven't posted for a little over a month. What's been going on with me? Well, I decided to spend the winter in Salida. And my decision was re-enforced by the sweetest riding November I can remember up here. I rode a ton until about a week ago when Old Man Winter rolled into town to make life chilly.

I'm going to learn how to tele ski if we ever get any actual snow (it's cold, but not snowy at all yet). I'm going to keep plugging at the trails effort I started here, Salida Mountain Trails. And I'm going to have the luxury of staying connected with the close friends I have here in Salida. Right now I'm missing Arizona, but home ain't that bad either.

24 Hours of Moab

The first 24 hour race I witnessed was the 2001 24 Hours of Moab. This is the 24 hour race that I compare all others to. It’s big, it’s brassy, the course is quite a handful and the talent that shows up for it is impressive. It’s late in the season, which makes it feel like a grand finale, but that also means that weather can be a huge factor.

This year I hooked up with Dave Armbruster from Denver, the team captain from my first tour of the 24 Hours of Moab. Dave has been fielding teams since that first year. He had a spot open and he offered it to me. Our team was The Mud Pigs. We entered as a Men’s Veteran 4-man team.

I went out to the venue mid-week to grab a good parcel of real estate. Dave and Jesse showed up early Friday with a travel trailer they had borrowed from one of Dave’s 2006 teammates. We set the trailers up in an L-shaped formation to block the wind, should it become a factor. Our fourth guy, Paul, rolled in Friday afternoon.

Friday was a beautiful, idyllic day, but with the wispy clouds that warn of an approaching front. The rumors were that there could be some harsh weather. Saturday morning was cool, with a sort of moist breeze. There were fairly high clouds moving fast--looked like something was going to happen. But the race start was approaching, and nothing looked likely to stop that.

Jesse was our 1^st rider. He volunteered to do the LeMans start and hit the course in heavy traffic. Paul was #2, Dave was #3, and I was anchor. We agreed Friday night to stick with a simple 1-2-3-4 rotation. So I didn’t have anything to do until some time after 4 PM.

From the start, three or four teams stormed off ahead of all the others in Men’s Veteran. This is the way things go at the 24 Hours of Moab. To be on the podium in any category requires that all riders on your team are elite, and no mistakes are made. Our guys all did just fine, and we were sitting at around 13^th of 25 by the time I headed for the starting line.

I had a decent first lap, an hour and twenty minutes. That's as fast as I've ever turned at Moab, even though the course was remarkably sandy this year. My 2nd lap started at quarter to 11 PM, so it was plenty dark. I was rockin' a really fast night lap, but flatted about 2/3s of the way through and spent nearly 10 minutes fixing it in the dark. That lap was 1:39. My third was a nice frisky 1:33:46, which is decent for a 2nd night lap that started at 5:30 AM.

As I was preparing for that early morning lap, I conferred with Jesse and Paul. We were analyzing our results with Excel on Paul's laptop in a trailer in the desert in the wee hours of Sunday. Jesse was due out after me. He was feeling shelled, and also feeling regret that we were looking iffy to get a 16th lap because his times were suffering. He did a 1:55 lap between midnight and 3 AM. In order for us to have any chance at a 16th lap, we needed to have him do a 1:50 or better when he went out after me. He doubted that he had that in him.

We had been playing around between 11th and 13th place in Men's Vet since the start. The best we were going to do was 11th, and finishing there would definitely require doing 16 laps.

Jesse offered to skip his lap, letting all the faster riders do theirs, and he would take the clean-up lap at the end, which we would almost certainly get to do. In order for that to happen, Paul would have to be ready to go right after me, and he had just come in off the cold, dark course. So that sounded pretty difficult to him.

As I got up to go ride, I told them that it was really up to them. It was Paul's burden, and he should decide if he was willing to do it. Jesse noted that I had a say in it too, since I could lose the chance to do the four laps that they all were doing. I told them that I was OK with whatever.

I went out on course. As I raced, I considered that perhaps I should offer to double up, and go out again when I saw Jesse at the start/finish. But I eliminated it by the time I got there. I felt that it might not be respectful of Jesse's feelings. I should just smile, wish him luck, and let him know that I had faith in him to do his best. It really didn't matter. We were doing this for fun, and Jesse could do his lap or not do it. He could turn a fast lap or he could fall completely apart, and it was his experience that mattered then, not whether we did 15 or 16 laps.

Well, Jesse dug deep and came up with a 1:44. It was fast for him on his tired legs. And he got the dawn boost that I had predicted would help him. He came off the course smiling, happy, and proud of himself. Hot damn! And we were still in it for 16 laps!

Paul went out and turned a nice quick 1:27. Then it was Dave's turn. He hit the course at 10:24:45 AM. He needed to do a 1:35 to get me onto the course for a final lap. His first lap, when he was fresh, was 1:29:19. Clearly, it wasn't going to be easy for him to throw down and finish a lap that fast. I cleaned up my bike, suited up, stretched, and got ready to go if he got back in time.

All three of us were in the start/finish tent as noon approached. Wildly enthusiastic team exchanges were going on. The team that was currently holding 11th place sent out their rider at 11:49. So he had a lead on me, but I'd been smoking this guy through the whole race, so I wasn't worried about catching him if I got to get out there. But would I? The minutes kept clicking by, no Dave. As it got past 11:58 I started to assume that we were done. Oh well, that's how it goes. Then it got to be 11:59. The announcer started to count down to noon, and suddenly I heard Jesse yell "He's here!"

I jumped over to our start/finish volunteer and said "Our guy Dave is coming!" The countdown started and here came Dave, his eyes hollow with exhaustion. He rolled up to the table, handed down the baton, scanned his card, and promptly fell over, bike and all. I laughed out loud, took the baton, scanned my card and jogged out to get my bike and start that last lap. I laughed on and off for about the first 5 minutes, then got down to the business of catching the rider from the 11th place team.

There were lots and lots of exhausted solo riders out there, and other quite a bit slower riders. But of course that's all I saw. There really weren't any riders starting after me. I was probably the 2nd to the last rider to hit the course, if not the last. So nobody was passing me, and I was passing plenty of slower riders.

I kept the hammer down, watching for my competitor. I checked the number of every rider I approached from the back. I covered all the gnarly climbs and technical sections in the tough first half of the course with as much speed and grace as I could muster. It was not the time to crash or flat.

Finally, as I approached one of the last technical rock descents in the middle of the course, I saw my guy. He came to the top of the rocky descent and skidded to a stop. I heard him say, "Not this time." Then I blew past him and dropped it. I heard him say "Nice job", but I just kept after it.

So now I knew that I had 11th as long as I didn't mess anything up. As far as I knew, there was still a chance to move up even more, especially if somebody had a mechanical, so I stayed on it as much as my tired body could.

My final lap was 1:27:30. We were 11th place, and all was at peace in our world.

For mere mortals, this is how the 24 of Moab goes. The podium belongs to the truly fast. The rest of us create our arbitrary measures of success, and we go out there and do the best we can. Real victory for us comes in behaving like a team and making good memories. So we won. We all had the most dramatic, best finish ever at Moab. Everybody on the team threw down big time to get us that 16th lap. We all got what we got by doing our best.

It was a great time. A great way for me to sum up my 2007 race season.

Sandy Course!

Out at the venue, I've done two laps to check out the course. She's deep, bro. Mucho sandy. Gonna make it interesting this year. The big wheel will be an advantage.


This dude powered his way through the whole dune, but it's deep baby!

I'll blog a report when I have it, but don't look for it before Sunday. Woo Hoo! 24 Hours of Moab, baby!

Porcupine Rim

What a classic ride.

After I spent the morning helping out at the venue, I decided it was time for some “me” time. I put on a wool jersey, threw my provisions into the truck, and headed to Moab.

There are lots of stock rides I could do. One of them, the Sovereign Trail, I’ve only ridden once before. That was during the ridiculously rainy Rim Ride Moab. There was some temptation to do that ride, but I haven’t ridden good old Porcupine for a couple years. It’s a wonderful ride. So that was it.

I went straight to Lions Park, at the intersection of Utah state highway 128 (the river road) and highway 191. The ride finished onto 128, a few miles upriver. So I parked there and rode through town and up onto the Sand Flats Road. I had to pay $2 to the BLM to get into the Sand Flats Recreation area.

It took me about 90 minutes from the time I parked to the time I hit the Porcupine Rim Trailhead. I encountered three jeepers right away, then two hikers. From that point, I saw nobody for an hour or so.

I rode the jeep road downhill section with a strong sense of mortality. I’m still a bit sore from the crash I took at Phil’s World on Monday, and of course I broke my hand on that road back in 2000. I remember that day like it was yesterday. No need for broken bones today, especially with me all by myself.

The first other human I saw after the hikers was a Euro chick in full-on pro racing togs. She was walking up the jeep road as I was descending. I stopped to ask her if she was alright and she pointed to her bare wrist and said “I lost the jewelry—you see any jewelry?” I shook my head apologetically and rolled on. A minute later I ran into her Euro racerboy companion. He told me “She lose her jewelry.”

I saw a cluster of shuttle riders (an empty shuttle van had passed me as I climbed the Sand Flats Road) just as I approached the beginning of the singletrack. I rolled past them and hit the brief but fun and technical singletrack. It was just as I remembered it; all ride-able, but with several difficult visual problem-solving puzzles. Only after you give up and put a foot down do you see the easy line. It’s the kind of ride that you could get dialed if you rode it every day for a week.

Ah well, it’s beautiful anyway. You descend to the river in a way that looks impossible. So far down, such a steep canyon wall.

I was back at the truck in almost exactly 4 hours. I drove straight back out to the venue to defend my turf. When I got there, I found that I had neighbors on two sides. But my boundaries had not been breached.

Home at the Venue

I dragged the tPOD into the 24 Hours of Moab venue Tuesday early afternoon. Monday night I stayed at the Moab KOA where I could shower, fill the fresh water tank, and dump my poopy tank. After I checked out of the KOA I went into town to do laundry and some shopping.

Then I rolled out to the venue and pulled the trailer in there using 4wd low. Even though I went in using creeper, the road really wasn’t all that bad. I remember years past when it was really pretty gnarly. Granny Gear has worked it over really well. Perhaps it will get worse after a couple hundred vehicles, trailers, and RVs have rolled in to prepare for race day.

I got a decent spot, then walked over to command central to volunteer to help. I’d like to reduce my camping bill, and it helps to know people anywhere you go. So Tuesday late afternoon I helped Snedly clear tumbleweeds from the beginning of the course, heading east along next to the entry road. Wednesday morning, we filled prairie dog holes in the field used for the lemans start.

People keep trickling in, but as of Thursday morning, it’s still pretty much empty. SRAM and Cannondale are the big vendors who have arrived, and IMBA has sent one advance scout.

Let the games begin.