Sovereign Smackdown - The Rest of the Story

In the warm, safe space in front of my computer I downloaded the tracks from my GPS and had a chance to try to figure out what the H-E-Double Toothpicks was going on Friday on the Sovereign Trail when I had a conniption fit trying to follow the Rim Ride Moab track.

Here's the deal:



The green line is the track from Rim Ride Moab '07 that I was following. The red line is my tracklog from the ride Friday.

The arrow at the bottom points to the place where I briefly left the track rather than following a wash that did not seem to have a trail in it. I think there must have been a re-route. And it was a good one. A bit more distance, but I remember liking that bit of trail.

The other arrow points to where I stopped and turned around, and where I had probably come to within about 100 yards of joining back onto the track having taken a climbier and more difficult link (Link 5 it looks like from my photo).

Point is, I was damned close to already back on track (literally and figuratively). I was actually on something of a shortcut. But almost there. And furthermore, I was probably closer to finishing out the Sovereign to 191 by following the track I had been following than I was turning around and going back to 191 the way I came. If not closer sticking with Plan A, the options were at least close to even money.

What can you say? Sometimes perception is reality (well, it always is actually). I perceived that I was getting hopelessly lost and facing the danger of spending the night out there, and my anxiety caused me to take the safe route, so I turned back. Five more minutes and I would have been back on the track I was following and breathing easy.

Ah well. So many chances to gain wisdom in this life. So few actually work out that way.

Koko Catalog

For Sunday I decided to just go ride some known killer singletrack, not exploring just having fun while always knowing where I was and what was ahead. I went to the Loma Exit Trailhead to ride what I call the Mack Ridge Trails, but most know as the Kokopelli's Trailhead.

For the first time I rode Rustlers, just to see it from a trail system designer's standpoint. What a cool resource!

Then it was off to ride from Mary's to Horsethief, then Steve's to Lion's Loop to Troy Built to Mack Ridge...

Images (click on these if you have a big resolution display and want to see them in the full bigness that doesn't show on Team Velveeta™):


From Horsethief Bench


Another from Horsethief


Down onto Steves from the last big of Steves up on the bench


The big picture from Lion's loop looking back toward Mary's and upriver

When I finished up Troy Built I was suitably tired, and time was getting late since I wanted to drive home that night. So I just took the frontage road back to the TH.

Those trails are my favorite of Fruita. I don't really get tired of them. 18 Road is fun, but not near as pretty, and not as techical and complex.

Good trip. Roughly 200 miles of dirt in 4 days of riding. Tired legs, but a good departure from the rapidly closing winter in Salida.

Dirty Onion

I camped at the Onion Creek Campground, less than a mile south from highway 128 about half way to Cisco from Moab.

In the morning I wanted a ride, but a truly mellow ride. The Onion Creek road goes up to Fisher Valley, and it looked to be graded gravel all the way up. No complicated route-finding. No anaerobic short climbs. Sounded like a deal. And I'd never explored the Castle Valley area, so it seemed like a good fit.

I'll just let this series of panorama shots tell the story. Other than one thing: this is a good ride to take somebody else's bike on. You cross Onion Creek 22 times, only once on a bridge. I've heard that it's called Onion Creek because it's so laced with salts and arsenic that it tastes more or less like an onion. Up near the entry to the Fisher Valley, it smells like sulfur, not so much below.

But all those shallow crossings and then the sandy exits spraying wet sand onto the drivetrain make a sloppy mess of grinding paste. My bike was a fugly mess when I finished.

Now, on to the photos:








I came to just the verge of the Fisher Valley. It's the flat platform visible in the middle left.




Parting shot of the Castle Valley as I headed back toward Colorado with my dirty bike loaded up to travel

Sovereign Smackdown

Friday, the day after my WRIAD, which had me on the bike for just shy of 12 hours, much of that time operating at a fairly non-casual pace, I broke camp in the Green River Canyon and drove into Moab. I went to the library primarily to check on a web application I wrote that went into production this month. There had been some fairly major SNAFUs, so I needed to be sure that my customers were not twisting in the wind with another showstopper, wondering why I wasn't answering email.

There were no issues (woo hoo!) so I took a moment to upload my WRIAD photos and post them to Team Velveeta™. Then I ate some lunch and headed to the intersection of 191 and 128 to embark on a Sovereign ride. I had the track log from the Rim Ride Moab loaded on my GPS, and I wanted to ride it on my own without flagging to try to learn a bit more about the layout of Sovereign. During the two trips out there for the Rim Ride, I had just followed flags and other riders without putting much effort into knowing where the hell I was. The other time I rode there, Kathy and I just did a simple out and back following signs. Fun, but not much learning about where to go and how to do a nice big loop out there.

I rode from Moab starting at noon, thinking of a maybe 3 hour ride. I was intending to keep it light. I rode from town largely to have a nice spin to warm up my tired legs before hitting the technical singletrack. It took me a bit under an hour to get to the start of the Bar-M loop. Nice cool day.

From there I started following the GPS. It was a bit disruptive, since there are lots of intersections out there. But it was working well. I saw where I was going without issue, making some surprising and non-intuitive turns.

I got across the big wash and started on the real Sovereign. It was good, but lots of anaerobic efforts that made my legs complain. Such a cool trail--lots of challenging but do-able up ledges, technical drops, great flow.

My GPS was becoming a fairly critical tool. It's a bit of a maze out there. And I was starting to worry about time a little. It was getting close to 3:00 PM and this time of year the danged sunset is around 4:30. Ambient light stays for another hour, but still, I was getting close to the time I had intended to be out there. Also I wanted to be able to find a decent campsite out toward the Castle Valley with at least a bit of light left. And most importantly I hadn't really packed clothing, food, or lights that would allow me to be out there past dark when with hope of getting myself out. The temps drop rapidly after dark, and it was only about 50° F to start with.

Then I came to an intersection. I consulted the GPS, and it showed that I was off the course. Not by much, but off. I backtracked and found that it appeared I should be following a was down. But it was fairly overgrown, and did not look like it had been ridden, maybe ever. Harumph. My track was from the '07 Rim Ride, so I considered that perhaps the trail had been rerouted. I went back to the intersection and took the fork that headed in the general direction that my track line went. Before long, it appeared that I was back on the line, but it took several disruptive stops to confirm that.

Shortly I came to another intersection. I referred to the GPS and it looked like I should go left rather than continuing straight. This made sense too because the straight option appeared to take me right back toward town and I knew that I needed to head farther north. So I took the fork. The following pictures were the only ones I took, and they came from that intersection.





After about 15 minutes I looked at the GPS and I was off the line. Way off. I seemed to be heading left of where the line went. But it was confusing. I did not have much perspective. I was trying to zoom the map in and out, and suddenly my GPS rebooted itself. Grrr!

No real choice but to backtrack. It took longer than I remembered to get back to that intersection, and I saw at least one place that looked to me to be exactly where the intersection was, but no intersection. I started not having fun. Then I came to the intersection where I went wrong, and the GPS was no longer showing my track except for the backtrack. When it rebooted it seemed to have shit the bed in terms of giving me my breadcrumb line back. My temper spiked. Now it was almost 3:30. I looked west toward highway 191, and got into touch with how panicked, disoriented people could commit the worst possible desert country mistake, heading cross country toward where you know you want to be.

I started hurriedly backtracking from memory. The GPS stayed in the backpack pocket. I didn't waste time. I was not smiling. I felt tired and wanted to be back to the tPOD.

It took actually very little time to get back to the big wash. I had been mostly climbing outbound, so I was able to rock along pretty fast back out. Then I got back out to the old highway that parallels 191. I had about 20 minutes of flat to get to the long downhill back into town.

I got back into Moab at about 4:30. Bummer that the ride turned into a bummer. And I was tired. Not what I wanted for a recovery day. I called Kathy and then headed upriver on 128 to find my campsite.

The day ended well. I got a good, private place to set up the tPOD and got a good dinner and good night's sleep.

WRIAD Nov 19, 2009

Vision quest.

I camped (in the tPOD) near the bottom of Horsethief Bench. Got started at about 5:30 AM under a clear starry sky, frost on the rocks and sage. I was going clockwise, so I started out climbing Horsethief and then the long grind up the Mineral Bottom Road. I got to highway 313 around 7:45 AM. Dropped in to Shaffer about half an hour later. The view down toward the Rim in the early light was spectacular.

Once I got to about Musselman Arch, I was more or less committed. No easy way back to the camper, either by continuing on or turning back. And it was mostly deserted on the Rim. Saw one pair of dudes driving back toward Shaffer with bikes on their truck, and a Park Ranger patrolling on his bicycle between Gooseberry and White Crack. From there I was solitary until I saw some goobers on 4-wheelers (AKA Lawn Tractors) just before returning to near the bottom of Horsethief.

The thing I dislike about my Osprey T22 is that I don't seem to be ever able to wear it without it bulging with volume and heavy. I had extra water, and of course all the clothing I needed to start out in 28° F temps. And food... in short I needed to have lots of stuff to be out there. One major mechanical and I might need to spend the night out there walking. But needless to say I got tired of that pack.

Here's where I had my lunch burrito. First glimpse of the Green River (upper left) which I must say I was happy to see.

Finally a shot of pack and bike with Green River in background taken from Hardscrabble. I was worked by this point, and considering with obsessive focus the full description of what I would eat when I returned to camp.

Finished up at about 5:25 PM. I was pushing hard through the gathering cold and darkness. Just avoided needing to stop to put on clear glasses and more clothing.

The food tasted good.

Hunting is Hard

I got an elk tag for the 4th autumn in a row. Nice reminder of how damned hard it is to hunt without horses or other helpers.

My tag was for the Saguache/Bonanza area southwest of Salida. I chose the Cochetopa Hills over by North Pass--farthest place in the game area from the Front Range.

It's really pretty over there but I got skunked. Again. All I left were footprints, all I took were photos. All I came home with was a body sore from walking.

Pretty little park up near 10K elevation ringed by bare aspen


Dawn in the Cochetopa Hills, as seen from my feet after getting an early start


Looking east from up high in the late afternoon twilight, the Sangre de Cristo faintly visible on the far horizon

The sad fact I came home with is that I really don't know much about hunting big game. I kind of think I'm like a flycaster throwing dries in the winter--too ignorant to know how futile my efforts even are.

Oh well, nice hikes in the mountains. Lots of looking and listening.

Fruitah Getaway

Finally found an available weekend with acceptable weather to scoot over to the Utah border to sample some red sand.



Visiting the desert country feeds me.


The girl riding a rim.


Single photo taken from an on-the-way home ride on Mary's Loop

Pueblo State Park sanctuary

Took a weekday to just go ride where there wouldn't be any snow or ice. The curvy trails at Pueblo Lake State Park.

Went with Brendan, and we both rode singlespeeds, throttle at about 90% for about 4 hours. We went to ride and that's what we did.

Shivery Shake-out

I've been kitting up and planning for bikepacking for a while now--roughly since I ordered my Hunter Cycles frame and fork way back in July of 2008. What's that 15 months? Good grief.

Better late than never, but colder late than never in this case. My bud Brendan and I had been talking about doing a shake-out trip for both of us to try out new gear since really late summer. Maybe longer. We waited out all the decent weather, then when some clear weather following a little winter blast last week came through on Friday, we did it.

Of course it took me all damned day between disorganization and distraction to load the stuff onto the damned bike and leave. We actually finally rolled up Ute Trail out of Salida starting at about 4:45 PM. We didn't want to just ride an hour until dark, we really wanted (for largely symbolic reasons) to cross west over the summit into the upper Badger Creek drainage near South Park and camp over there. So we wound up riding up and over on snowy, sometimes icy, often muddy doubletrack with lamps blazing.

Over there in the open snow on the ground was over 6 inches deep. Neither of us really wanted to make camp in that much snow. As we rode along in the dark, we saw some trees near the road where there was a little less snow. We plugged along in the dark and increasing cold until we saw a shadowy grove of pine trees back a bit further from the narrow doubletrack I took us up (lots of wide open over there and not so much wooded).

This is camp, morning after. We set up with headlamps in the dark, squatted in the crusty snow heating up some soup, then sacked out after 9.


Herring Park, mid-morning Saturday

Smarter people might have just said, yep, we spent a night shivering, rolling around on crunchy snow with barely adequate sleeping bags and, well, spotty knowledge after riding almost 20 miles into the night. Good for us. Now let's just go home and get warm.

Not us though, we decided to take a little tour of the Arkansas Hills. So we headed north into Herring Park, bound for Bassam Park.

You can see some mud on my rear bag. Let me tell you, it got muddier. The bluebird day sun warmed things up enough to really slop things out in some places.

Bassam Park between Salida and BV, but north and east, is big, remote, and beautiful. The back drop of the Sawatch Range with fresh snow was awesome.



As we headed back toward home, we first had to summit Aspen Ridge, taking on a 1,000 ft climb to 10,300 ft. This stretch on the north-facing side had not melted at all. But the climb to the summit was mostly climbable, at least where we didn't sink and slip in greasy half-frozen mud.


Aspen Ridge summit view to Sangre de Cristo range--fresh autumn snow gleams white

The way down off this summit was un-godly muddy. Our bikes and our selves got totally spattered and slathered. Grindey drivetrains. Clogging chainstays.

It was tough. But it served a purpose. I came home with many assertions about areas where I am under prepared. If we hadn't had gnarly conditions, we might have learned less. Of course we might have shivered less too, but what are you going to do? Colorado didn't give us much autumn this year. Winter has been too enthusiastic about showing up early.

We survived, we learned, and we wound up riding a 50-mile lollipop loop. It was an adventure.

Damn, but did that hot shower feel good when I got back into my nice, comfy house.

Bear Creek Color Tour

So it's been chilly. And windy. Putting a finger outside this morning made me think about finding work to do around the house. But I have a big trailwork day scheduled tomorrow, and of course weather has been a dice roll...

So I rolled out late in the morning with plenty of clothing to ride the Bear Creek section of the Rainbow.



I didn't wind up needing any clothing other than the leg warmers and long-sleeved wool I wore from the house. It was nice. Crisp. There was wind, but it served mostly to swirl leaves around--aesthetically pleasing autumn sights and sounds.



There were some newly downed trees. This scraper was a thrilling surpise. STOP! I missed thumping into it by inches. In the foreground and you can see the skid on the trail.

Most of the gambel oak was already yucky brown or stripped, but this clump was still a lovely maroon with tinges of yellowy-green. Nice.

Good ride.

Whether weather makes me a wether

Catchup post, with references to the spotty damned good weather during the time when the Rockies should be having idyllic fall weather. I used all three forms, the pronoun indicating a question of alternative possibilities, the damned weather, and a castrated goat.

Kathy and I decided at the drop of a hat late Saturday morning to shoot over to Fruita for a bit of desert riding, and to introduce her to the riding that is there. She had been hearing about it for years, and mostly about 18 Road. I had seen some dodgy reports about weather, but we both had complicated work weeks and just felt like a mini road trip. So we went.

Finding a spot to camp up on 18 Road on a Saturday late afternoon was a challenge, but we got one. We ate dinner than went for a ride. We lost the light after half an hour (darkness at 7:15!). I got her a riding lamp this late summer, but forgot to bring them. That's the kind of thing that happens when you decide to go then hurriedly get ready and leave after one hour of prep. Would have been a perfect evening for a night ride. Harrumph!

It rained on and off all night, and at dawn the sky looked gnarly and a wet wind was blowing. During a break between rain squalls, we suited up and rolled. Kessler run to the trailhead, up Prime Cut, across Frontside, down West Zippity, back to trailhead, back up Kessler. We rode for ~3 hours, then it started to sprinkle (and the wind had become fierce) as we ate lunch and loaded up.


Pano shot from top of Prime Cut, foreboding weather seen over CO National Monument in background

My plan was to camp us out at Rabbit Valley for the 2nd night, then ride the Mack Ridge trails Monday before heading home. We got back to Fruita, went to the CO Welcome Center (where you find some of the nicest people in Colorado) and looked at low gray clouds apparently hammering rain all over the western horizon. Rumor had it that Monday was going to dawn clear, but we had visions of a night spent listening to the wind making the camper's superstructure creak and groan. We decided to scrub the mission and bolt back to Salida being that we had time to get home before nightfall, expecting to drive in iffy weather (weather!).

We did not regret the trip, it was some good together time and we did get to break the routine. And we got in a really decent ride at 18 Road. But I really wanted her to see more of Fruita. And it would have been nice to be able to ride in shorts and short sleeves. Isn't that what you're supposed to do in Fruita in early October?!

Now all week it's been unsettled. Yes, I got in a killer singlespeed Cottonwood ride with Scot on Wednesday. Yes, I did an hour in cold wind yesterday afternoon (it's been all about the Dambala lately).

But where the hell is our nice autumn weather?! The Crest got locked down in the last 10 days of on and off high country snow. CDOT actually plowed highway 50 over the pass one of those days! Will the damned weather stabilize for just a little while so that we can get at least a few more tastes of classic fall riding, so necessary for preparing my sanity to endure winter? Or will it be one desert trip after another?

I prefer to be like Pan during this time of year, dancing about in the woods and celebrating the season. But so far Pan has been kicked in the junk this fall. Damned weather! Harrumph!

Kottonwood Kolerz

Last day of September, honored with my first singlespeed Cottonwood loop of the fall.

Cottonwood (trees) have I think a more beautiful color than aspen, and they stay bright for much longer. They generally start a little later and keep their leaves quite a bit later. What better place to watch them start to turn than Cottonwood Gulch?



OK, now I'm going to digress a bit from bikey subject matter. I know that it is often unpopular among readers of recreation blogs to get political rants, so if you have no tolerance for that sort of thing, click away my friend...

The health care debate is making me ill (pun intended). Why must Americans insist on sticking with a cost-management approach to health care? Why can't we expand our minds to see health care as a health management issue?

All the debate in Congress and the press is about whether it should be mandatory private insurance with some new regulation, or whether there should be a so-called public option. This public option would be government provided insurance.

Why does there have to be an insurance layer between the sick person and the health care system? Because we are still seeing health care as a cost problem.

In countries that have successful health care systems like Britain, France, and Canada, health care is not seen as a cost, it's seen as a vital component of the well-being of citizens. In those countries, a public health care infrastructure is maintained by the government. Not run by the government, it's run by health care experts. They don't worry about cost, they worry about treating health issues. And through some magic, it all costs less!

They pay more tax to support the system, but they don't have to cough up huge amounts of income to pay for insurance. The insurance that is emptying Americans' wallets is often worthless. The insurance companies charge huge premiums, fight claims and often force the sick person to spend hours on the phone trying to get the care they need. Often those hours on the phone are wasted, and the insured American goes bankrupt because they got sick and their insurance turns out to be worthless.

Perhaps countries that have public health care pay less because there isn't a whole wing of every hospital full of administrative staff who spend their days trying to get money out of insurance companies to pay for their patients' treatment? How does that overhead really help sick people get treatment?

Sometimes, profit motive does not produce the best solution. Sometimes the public sector is the only viable provider of services.

Marshall Starvation

Perfect autumn day. Clear blue sky, warm without being too warm. I had to make a trip up to Marshall to be part of it.

Mount Ouray. The monolith that towers over my favorite bit of the Rocky Mountains.

The vast aspen stands that line the Marshall Pass Road are only starting to turn. The colorful ones light up their surroundings as the sunlight passes through. Love the climb up this old railroad grade to the pass...

Starvation Creek Trail

Perhaps Starvation Creek should be known as Satiation Creek. To a human being passing through on foot or on a bike, it's got quite a bit to offer. I'm sure there's a story behind the name, probably not a happy one.

Here's a picture of Mt Antora from the Starvation Creek Trailhead

The trail is so sweet down this less-traveled drainage. Sometimes passing through grassy aspen stands, sometimes through sagebrush, sometimes through thick undergrowth of young fir, willow, and down trees.

When I was almost down to the bottom, I scared up a yearling elk. It bolted across the trail in front of me from where it had been standing down in the creek bottom. The creek was on my right. This elk and another, a mature cow, crashed up onto the slope to my left. I slowed and was just going to pass through when I heard bugling from the right across the creek. I stopped and carefully pulled my pack off and quietly took out my camera. There was one animal directly across from me bugling, and then I heard another slightly upstream across the creek. Then I heard another behind me where the cow and yearling had gone.

I peered through the thick vegetation across the creek and saw the huge antlers of the first bull I had heard. I turned on the camera and moved around trying to get a clearer view. Then he got a clear view of me--our eyes made brief contact, and he turned and thrashed through the brush making a path for his antlers. But he didn't run up the slope. He just got out of sight, then kept up his grunting and whistling. The other bulls kept making noises.

I looked back up the other slope and saw a cow, perhaps the one I had flushed, standing on the slope and looking not toward me, but across the creek toward the sound of the bulls.

I wondered if I might see a fight if I hung out long enough. But I did not really have time to linger there into the evening. I put the camera back, never getting a shot worth taking. Just the memories of an autumn experience in a quiet corner of the Rockies.

Magic Carpet Completion

Rick Hunter sent me the custom stem he made to go with my Hunter Cycles frame and fork. She's all built up, and ready to load and go. Today's test flight had my mind full of ideas about where and when.


Ain't that stem purty?

Of course, the season change is making it seem futile to make plans to ride and camp overnight in the mountains. But it's only September, I'm sure October will bring us some nice weather again.

And there's always the desert.

Aspen Ridge

Vapor Trail is finally over. Weeks of preparation, both for the event and for my own ride, went by quickly. Then the event happened, and I woke up Monday morning and it was past. That's OK, I'm wistful but relieved.

Probably the most distinct and lasting images that stay with me from the ride are of the golden aspen that I could see with my lamp as I passed by St Elmo in darkness. Then the dusting of snow on the high peaks around the upper Chalk Creek canyon visible in the pre-dawn light. I remember being somewhat startled by the glowing yellow aspen--it's Fall?!? I'd been so busy for the first two weeks of September that it hadn't really occurred to me that the trees would be changing.

Well, they are. Even more this weekend. Autumn doesn't really start until Tuesday, but the trees are turning.

Yesterday (Saturday) I got to show Kathy the Silver Creek section of the Rainbow Trail for the first time. There were some colorful trees up there, but they were still green for the most part. Today we headed up to Aspen Ridge, north and east of Salida.


The official "gateway" to Aspen Ridge. Framed shot of Mt Antero.

Autumn seems to be coming in kicking and screaming. Another gnarly weather thing is on the way. This shot was taken at about 12:30. Looks like a moist afternoon coming.



The farther up I go, the more turning trees.



This one was from the summit.



Also from the summit, this time with the Sangre de Christo Range framed with Aspen.


Looking off to the north, the Buffalo Peaks.


Another Shavano-Antero shot


And of course, it only makes sense to take the Cottonwood Trail back to town. Just in time to miss the rain.

My Vapor Trail 110

The story is out there about this year's Vapor Trail 125. Weather.

We moved the event into September from August in 2007. We had little choice--the bike shop runs the event, and August is go time. Things are often still jumping in September, but after Labor Day is just plain better. And usually the weather is great.

But sometimes you get a little taste of Fall/Winter in September. A nasty little system decided to appear with perfect timing to mess with the 2009 VT. And I mean it was perfect timing. The storm peaked, at least in town, right between 9 and 10 PM when we were supposed to be rolling. The rain was hammering down, lightning, was flashing and the thunder was loud because that lightning was close. At about 9:15 I was at home putting stuff in a backback. Kathy was looking at me, incredulous, asking me if I was really going to go out there if it was still doing this at 10 PM. I shrugged and said, "yeah, I guess so." I could not give her a coherent reason why I would do something so, well, stupid. But I kept putting stuff in the pack.

I went outside to leave for the start and two riders, including Ed rode up to tell me that the start had been pushed back to midnight. I realized that my cell phone had been off, since I'd wrapped it up in plastic to take into no-cell-service country for the whole night, just in case it proved to be needed and useful at some point. As the supposed Event Director, I realized that I had been quite absent at a critical time in the execution of said event.

Yep, it was happening. I rode the several blocks to Absolute Bikes and asked Shawn what was up. Weather. That's what. There were concerns not only because of the threat of hypothermia, but even that the route might be difficult to travel on. The delay meant shortening the route. That's really the only way it could happen. The longer route was made possible by the 10 PM start. Without it, none but the truly fast would be able to finish before nightfall. And the obvious part of the course to cut was the one that took us up way high above treeline, where the snow would be deepest if there was snow. And where it would be hardest to rescue the hypothermic.

Crap.

Ultimately, we agreed that it had to be Canyon Creek, and Starvation Creek as well. Time and likely trail conditions drove those decisions. It would be a 110 mile course. Not the whole banana.

So we stood around looking at high tech radar images on the internet, speculated about whether indeed it showed that a break was coming, and further speculated about whether the big cell that was over the San Juans near Montrose was headed our way.

Then somebody noticed that it wasn't raining outside anymore. By about 11 PM there were some stars showing faintly through the clouds. It was breaking up.

We did roll at midnight. I was wearing way too much clothing. I was still dressed for the 10 PM conditions. Even during the moderate neutral start, I began to swim in my own sweat. But I did not want to get out of the pack, because I knew that we wanted to be together at least for the crossing of Highway 285, and really all the way to the end of the neutral part. Didn't really matter, by 285 I was already soaked.

When the pace car pulled out of the way and the riders found their own pace, I pulled over to finally peel off my jacket. And then I was all alone. Bye bye pack.

I started the dirt climb, DFL, and watching silent lightning above the Sawatch Range ahead of me. Thoughts about that cell--how likely it was that our weather was not done being crappy, filled my head. It was too chilly for my wet clothing to dry, so I just rolled. At least I wasn't so hot anymore.

Then I saw a few drops of rain fall into my headlamp light. Then more. Then, by golly, it was raining again. Criminy. I stopped again, and put the jacket back on. I thought about whether this thing should even happen, and whether I should stick with it even if it did. Short course. It wasn't going to be like finishing a real Vapor Trail even if I did. And that's what I really wanted, to finish the big one. To redeem myself after abandoning in 2007 when I was so close to a finish.

And now it was raining again. Crap.

Well, I wasn't uncomfortable. Yet. I wasn't cold, just sopping wet. Might as well keep going until I became uncomfortable.

Then I saw some lights, and a group of riders putting on jackets. Golly, I'm not DFL anymore. Probably only temporary, but it felt pretty damned good to not be off the back. Then I saw some lights on moving bikes, headed back toward me. Riders abandoning already? Are they uncomfortable or just psyched out? It was quite the mind game, between the waiting around in the shop, the speculation about how much more bad weather, how cold up high...

I kept going. I was still bummed. I thought to myself, and then said aloud to JJ when we rode together for a little while, "this is not the vapor trail I expected, and it is not the vapor trail I wanted". But I kept going.

Then I got to the Colorado Trail. There was a little crowd gathered around Shawn who was recording times. None of them were really heading up to the CT. I assumed they were just changing clothes but it turned out that many of them, for a variety of reasons, were calling it.

I saw several people on the CT at the start of my travels there including Earl, but then I rode off into the darkness pretty much on my own. Later I played leap frog with John for a while, and passed Todd on his singlespeed in Raspberry Gulch, where a big ring comes in real handy.

When I made Aid Station #1, I was still utterly soaked. But I had removed my jacket, and never got really cold or uncomfortable. I had sent a dry, warm, Sugoi hoodie with the Aid #1 staff. When I got there I peeled off my wet stuff and dropped it with a mighty plop onto Jon and Rickie's tailgate. I pulled on my hoodie, put a good Pearl Izumi shell over it (one that I had kept pristine in my pack), ate some good aid station food and headed on up the road to the Alpine Tunnel. I was good, I was going to ride this vapor trail and enjoy it. It was going to be a good vapor trail even if it wasn't "the vapor trail I wanted".

The night was lovely, dark and deep. I was by myself the entire rest of the night. I marvelled at the beauty of groves of aspen turned golden that I saw by my lamplight. When the first faint light of dawn flooded into the upper Chalk Creek Canyon, I was mesmerized by the beauty of the snow-sprinkled peaks above. When I stopped just before the Hancock townsite, John caught me and we both commented on what an uncommonly beautiful dawn we were being treated with.

It was cold. My feet were cold, but not to the point of pain. Not comfy, but livable. The rest of me was fine. I was grinding away, and I was making warmth. And I felt good. The place, the air, the view--I was exhilerated.

On the other side of the Alpine Tunnel, it was quite a bit colder. But isn't it always cold anywhere in the Gunnison drainage? I had to descend for about 20 minutes before starting the grim hike-a-bike up to Tomichi Pass, and I got cold. But then it was time to hike, and I was comfy again. And I was fine with the hike. It's long and hard, but it ends.

And then I was at Aid Station #2, Chatting with Dave Wiens while Jefe Branham worked on my bike. Those Gunnison guys are a class act. Their Aid Station was top notch.

Many kudos to the man in the middle of this photo, Rick Garcia, owner of The Tuneup, Gunnison's Legendary bike shop. Rick really worked to make this Aid Station great.

I left Aid #2 feeling good, well fed, dry clothing, great-working bike. Kathy took this shot of me as I approached the bottom of the Old Monarch Pass climb. It's good to feel good at the bottom of this climb, because it's probably better than you will feel at the top. It seems endless. Ah, but it does end.

I arrived at Aid #3 quite tired, but again, we had some top notch aid station people there. And Kathy. I refueled, filled up my hydration pack, and left knowing that I was going to finish. I had done the last of the big climbs. Sure, I wasn't doing the toughest obstacle to finishing the full Vapor Trail 125 course, the climb back up to Marshall Pass from the bottom of Starvation Creek, but it was still a ride that had taken some grit to finish. The mind game that the start played on us was not trivial. And as we all know, 50% of this game is half mental.

The rest of the ride is a Chaffee County Classic. Crest Trail, Silver Creek, Rainbow. Know it like the back of my hand. Love it like a brother.

What more to say? I felt happy for the whole danged thing after the first two hours. I rode well, I finished feeling strong. And then I joined a great barbecue already in progress. Great day. Thanks to all the other riders, the volunteers, and mostly to Shawn for making this all happen for 5 years in a row.

Vapor jitters

Sitting here in Salida gathering up clothing and deciding what to put in my pack, watching it begin to rain outside.

Maybe it'll just be a crappy afternoon and then be merely cold and clammy through the night.

Either way, adventure beckons.

Slouching toward Vapor Trail 125

I've been really busy, especially in the last week or so. Kathy and I got away from town for the holiday weekend, then I got back. Yesterday I got a request from one of the folks on the VT Roster to offer a decent source for a reliable local weather forecast. I told him that we don't really have such a thing, since the county is so varied in terms of elevation--we have lots of microclimates just within Chaffee County. The outlook is generally good. Doesn't look like a major cold front is headed our way. Normal pattern for this time of year, not too volatile, and not looking to be more so on Sunday.

Edit: Looks like my web weather info talents are lacking--a cold front DOES appear to be headed our way. Ah well, on with the post.

But in looking at the forecast from good ol' whitebread weather.com, I saw an illustration that gave me pause. It's just three days away!

Omygosh.

Am I ready? What will that 24 hours of pain be like for me? Finish or not? Stay in control of my head or lose perspective, rationality, emotional control?

I've been training, I've been getting my head together. I think that the taper I started 10 days ago will serve me. I have practiced eating a wider variety of food when I'm out in it.

I am committed to getting all the planning tasks and setup done where my race director duties are concerned so that on Saturday I'll be able to rest, and get my head together rather than being wrapped up in the stress of last-minute problem solving.

But there's the nagging concern that settled into my thinking after my near-finish in 2007; that I may simply be incapable of finishing the big loop between 10 PM and the cut-off. That I won't be able to maintain a finisher's pace, even if I do everything right.

Gonna try. All you can do is try.

Of course as Yoda said, "There is no try, there is only do or not do."

But honestly, what the hell does that sawed off little plush toy know about the Vapor Trail?

You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll kiss four hours goodbye

Go ride the Canyon Creek Trail.

Confrontation and a good deed

Two weeks from Vapor Trail. My coach (me) tells me that I should do some final large training efforts this weekend, then not more than 2-3 hours of medium effort starting Monday until it's time to line up at 10 PM on Saturday the 12th.

Plan was to climb to Old Monarch Pass via the (mostly) dirt route that roughly parallels Highway 50. Then ride the portion of the Vapor Trail 125 route that continues from there. The big test I had in mind was the confrontation of the climb from the bottom of the Starvation Creek Trail back up to Marshall via the Poncha Creek Road. I had never climbed that road in all the years I've been living and riding around here. It always seemed like a dumb idea. Why do that when the railroad grade-based Marshall Pass Road is right there?

Well, why this time was because I'll be dealing with it, while tired, in two weeks. And it has a reputation among last year's riders as being the worst obstacle to finishing. I have been dreading it and wondering if I'll have the stones to deal with it after more than 15 hours in the saddle.

I left the house at o'dark thirty. At sun-up I was climbing in the chill. Always nice to see dawn happen from the saddle. Took me a long time to warm up. But of course it was not warm... That does seem to be a theme with me this season--it takes often almost 2 hours before I feel ready to step up the pace.

At Old Monarch I got onto singletrack, heading south first to (new) Monarch Pass, then on down the Crest. It was crowded. We get spoiled living in Salida, most of us arrange to ride the Crest on weekdays or very early in order to avoid the crowds. But it's hard to pull that off when you climb from town. I was relieved to make Marshall, and unceremoniously headed down the upper Poncha Road to the fork over to Starvation Creek. I was passed by a train of lawn tractors and it was almost windless. The thick dust they raised hung in the air and I had to breath it for way too long.

I was tired, especially after staying on the throttle passing huge herds of Crest Riders when I saw them stopped. I made my way down Starvation slowly because I felt tired. When I hit the bottom I did the un-thinkable, I turned left to climb back up.

Ugh. It felt yucky. For the first 30 minutes or so, it felt endless and I really wondered. Would I be up to this? Ugh. Seemed unlikely.

Then I got to where it was OK. I got off and walked a few sections that either seemed especially steep, or when I just felt like walking. After a while, I got up to the intersection with Starvation, and then to the top. I was tired, but it was doable.

After that I felt much better. It is doable. It will not be fun, but it won't beat me unless I let it.

I got to Silver Creek and descended it again in the company of the herds of Saturday Crest riders. Then I got to the Rainbow, feeling good and ready to finish out the last couple hours of my self-inflicted trial.

Less than a mile down the Rainbow, in the first fast and flowy section, I came around a curve and saw a rider sitting on the ground below the trail. I asked him, "are you OK". He had his back to me and did not turn around, and he said in a shaky voice, "No, I'm hurt". Then I saw his bike, hung up in a small tree, back wheel up. I laid my bike down and made my way down off the trail to where he was. As I passed his bike I saw that the front wheel was heavily taco'd.

When I got close, I saw that he was holding his right arm with his left, and he said he thought it might be broken. I was the first one there, so I started asking him questions, and carefully feeling his arm, and asking him if it hurts here, or here, etc. Some other riders came along presently and they stopped and asked more questions. Then his buddy came back from up the trail. He came down to where the guys was (David?) and got involved. Then a group of riders that included two male nurses came along. The cavalry.

Then another of his friends came back, got truck keys and headed down to fetch a truck to pick up the down rider. Unfortuneatly it did not occur to me until after he was gone that he should have gone back and down the Silver Creek Road rather than continuing on the Rainbow.

We all hung with him getting the situation under control. When he tried to stand, his arm spasmed, and he yelled. We slinged the arm with a tube, then a rider came along who had a triangle bandage, so one of the nurses slinged it better. We got him on his feet, and then his thigh cramped hard.

It took a while, but we finally got him up onto the trail, shaky but under control. I jumped on his taco'd wheel to get it straight enough to at least rotate in the fork without binding up. Three riders walked out with him back to the Silver Creek trailhead, and I jetted back down the Silver Creek road to try to catch the guy going for the truck to confirm that he knew exactly where to go with the truck. I got down there 5 or 10 minutes before he did, made sure he knew the way back up, and then left to go back to town.

I didn't get to finish the whole 2nd half of the course, but big deal. I had the priveledge of being able to help a fellow rider who needed help. It's gratifying to see how the community of riders come together to help one of our own.

Good day. Today it's Canyon Creek!

See, I was having fun!

The event photos from Saturday-Sunday 24 Sage came out. I now have proof that I was doing the right thing; having fun.

Hartman is such a gas.

nocturnal e-mistakes

Four of the last 5 weekends I've strapped a light onto my handlebars and spent a good portion of the time when I should be sleeping out on a bike. It's been about preparing for the Vapor Trail 125. Only one of those nights was pretty much completely fun.

I've been getting lots of good advice about this strategy--that it's well-intentioned yet dumb. Nothing that's un-fun is good for preparing for an event.

This past Saturday I decided to line up at the 24 Hours in the Sage, my third year at that kick-butt event at Hartman Rocks in Gunnison.

I was determined to take the good advice seriously; I kept a smile on my face and a happy thought in my heart. And it worked. I was having fun and I was having a good race. The late afternoon was tough just because of a gnarly wind blowing, but I stayed positive. I established a more or less sane 24 hour pace, and I plugged away. At midnight I had completed 7 laps.

My eighth lap was looking good. I had put down some food during a pit stop at midnight and it was agreeing with me. My pace was settled and I was just getting down to the business of keeping up the pace all night.

The finale of the 24 Sage course is The Gap. It's a series of slanted granite slabs punctuated by granite curbs. After many laps on this course, I felt completely comfortable dropping through it. I had no trepidation at all. But on that 8th lap, it got me. As I entered it, I saw two other racers. One was working on his bike--he'd apparently broken something on the way through. The other was just finishing walking the toughest part. The good line was more or less open, but for some (stupid) reason I decided to experiment with a line to the left that looked OK. My front wheel dropped into a deep V and I landed on my head. I picked myself up, the front wheel of my Voodoo spun all the way backwards. My head had a mild pain sensation from the shock of impact. Of course I was thinking about closed head injury. It wouldn't be a bad one because I wasn't going fast enough, but a concussion is still a concussion. And I had the achey feeling that you get when you're body gets slammed around.

I rode back to the tPOD carefully, committed to taking some time to be sure that I didn't start getting goofy.

Long story made short: after sitting around for half an hour I lost interest in going back out. I laid down for a while trying to sleep, then went to the shower at about 4:00 AM. When I got back I put on street clothes, carried my transponder to the start/finish tent and volunteered to help with timing.

There I had the distinct pleasure to meet and witness the energy of Dave Taylor, who operates the KOA in Gunnison where the event is headquartered.

I've stayed at a few KOA's over the years, and a few nice ones. Dave's outfit is top notch. And he is a hoot. At 5 AM he was the life of the party. He could just support this event as a businessman and sponsor, but he goes way beyond that. He dances, he howls, he gives incoming solo racers man-hugs at 5 AM. I mentioned that I was hungry and he rushed off and came back with food. He's just one of those people who exudes positive energy.

Then of course there is Mitch, the man behind the 24 Hours in the Sage. God I wish I had a picture of him wearing the mullet wig, but alas, I had no camera.

It's a great event. It was a positive experience, which is what I needed to put in the bank. I regret my bad judgement, which got me into a crash that could have been much, much worse. But it was fine.

I'm not going to ride at night again until September 12-13. I'm going to continue to train, but I'm keeping it in perspective. I'll finish the Vapor Trail 125 or I won't. Life will go on either way.

The VT125 is going to be a killer event this year, and I get to be a big part of it. But it's not make or break. I have a wonderful girlfriend, lots of good friends, I'm fit and healthy--things are good. Why create a big drama around a physical accomplishment that may be beyond me even if the stars align? Fine line between too much motivation (worry) and not enough (apathy). But I'm going to try to walk it.

And I'm going to get a little more sleep between now and then.

Hard day's night

Last Saturday night I rolled a little after 9 PM on another Vapor Trail 125 toughening ride. (To call it a training ride doesn't really cover it. Finishing the VT125 takes more than fitness.)

My plan was to ride the first half (a bit more than half by distance) of the VT125 course. For those who've reviewed the course on the website, sections 1 through 5.

I rolled up to Blank's Cabin to start the Colorado Trail and everything was going fine. I was on schedule with race pace more or less, even with a stop to oil my chain. (Hopefully before the actual race I will have remembered to do that prior to the 10 PM start.) An orange waning gibbous moon rose behind me soon after I left town. Must have been a fire somewhere, since the sky was also hazy and there was a faint wood smoke scent in the air.

I ran the singletrack in roughly normal time and arrived at the old railroad grade above Chalk Creek to appreciate a spooky, hazy moonlit view of the Chalk Cliffs across the valley on the slopes of Mt Princeton.

That's when things started going downhill for me. Around 3 AM, as I started the grind up toward the Alpine Tunnel, I began to feel that weak, fatigued feeling I've been getting in the last month or so on long rides.

It took an eternity to reach St Elmo. I actually got off and walked the bike a couple times before I got there. Before even a glimmer of dawn, I downed the 2nd of the two Red Bulls I had brought. My eyes felt heavy and I was yawning and swaying, so I knocked down the wonder cure. It had almost no effect.

It took an eternity plus 5 to get to the base of the tunnel. Dawn greeted me on the approach.

Back toward where I came from, east toward the rising sun

Normally the coming of dawn gives me a kick in the ass when I've ridden all night. This time I just felt like my ass had been kicked.


Soft dawn light



I sat at the base of the hike-a-bike up to the divide in despair. The idea that I have a chance of finishing this year's Vapor Trail 125 sounded like a pipe dream. I ate some cold oatmeal and stared east down the glorious valley but my head was full of negative.

As Shawn pointed out, I should have turned around long before and gone back to bed. But I didn't do that.

After a while, I heaved a heavy sigh and put my pack back on. I pulled the bike upright. I trudged up the trail.

The rest of the story is what you might expect. Joyless pain. I made Tomichi Pass. It hurt. I decided to skip Canyon Creek, which should have been the funnest part of the whole ride. I was way behind schedule, and was worried that I wouldn't be able to contact Kathy until after she started worrying.

Climbing to Old Monarch was a nightmare. If I could have gotten cell service I would have called Kathy to come get me with the truck.

I'm discouraged. I don't know if there's any way that I'll have the fitness to do it. I wish I knew why. It certainly isn't overtraining. But I'm not sure it's undertraining either. I've done some nice big rides this summer, and thanks to my schedule I've done lots of recovering from them.

I'm not done preparing. But my confidence is a bit challenged.

But it's important for me to remember, 50% of this game is half mental. I've got to overcome this negativity. Working on it. Working.

Adventure Tour Lite

Kathy and I drove a wheel truck behind the 35+ Open hot rods at the Salida Omnium road race on Saturday morning. It's a great way to watch a road race, let me tell you. Those skinny tire guys who race have motors.

Saturday afternoon Kathy loaded up the tPOD and headed down to the east slope of the Sangre de Cristo range southwest of Westcliffe, CO to meet up with her family for a little camping. I had a plan hatching to ride down and meet them on Sunday, so I stayed behind.

At about 2:15 AM Sunday, after pretending to sleep for a while, I staggered to my feet and groped in the fridge for a cold Red Bull. Nothing like swigging a Red Bull in the middle of the friggin' night, then pulling on lycra and sidis, switching on your headlamp and rolling up into the mountains.

My plan was to avoid riding down highway 50 east, where there are too many blind corners and drowsy truckers, by climbing up over the Ute Trail divide to the north of Salida. It's South Park country over there, but where I went wasn't officially South Park since I never rode over any creeks that drain into the South Platte. South Park is the high valley basin of the South Platte headwaters. I crossed through the upper Badger Creek basin, which drains back down to the Arkansas.

But it feels like South Park over there. Wide open.

Everything was sleeping when I rolled out of Salida a few minutes after 3 AM. Dogs were not barking, no cars were on the road--nothing but moths were moving around. The sky was clear and the stars were brilliant, even more so as I climbed up and away from Salida's street lights.

The night was warm. I left with my leg and arm warmers packed and did not need them until I crested the 10,000 foot divide and started rolling down the other side at around 4:30. A mouse ran out into the road in front of me just before I got to the top. It was the first mammal I saw during the trip. I startled a couple deer just as I headed down. Even though my gaze was not directed up at the sky, I saw 4 or 5 meteors streaking down toward earth.



I had wrapped up some scrambled eggs and cheese in a tortilla the night before, and at about 6 I hauled it out and chowed it. I had just found the one key turn I needed to make to start heading back south toward Cotopaxi, CO. I was just leaving the wide open high prairie of the upper Badger Creek basin and entering mixed aspen and open space. The pink dawn made for a really nice breakfast mood.


The country up there north of Salida really has some pretty places. And you usually share them only with cows and people who work with cows. The morning was all mine.



This is the magic carpet that carried me on this ride. It's my adventure touring bike, but this is the most adventurous trip we've had together yet. The front rack is the real start of getting the Hunter ready to tour.



The sun slants through a stand of aspen as I crest one of a series of climbs on the way to the long descent into Cotopaxi on the Arkansas River.



In the shot above you can see that I've got some descending to do, but in the background you can see the Sangre de Cristo range to the right and a hint of the Wet Mountain Valley (where I'm headed) to the left. It was about 8 AM when I took this photo. Shortly after, I saw my first human of the day, a dude with cowboy hat passing me in his Dodge pickup.



The day was pretty much going (among normal people) once I passed over the Arkansas and through Cotopaxi and started climbing south toward Westcliffe. The sun was getting hot and people were out driving around. I had 8 or 10 pavement miles to the town of Hillside, to a turn-off that would get me off the highway onto ranch roads. The Sangre de Cristo rise pretty dramatically up from flat hayfields and pastures. Long, straight dirt roads.

I zig-zagged up the valley, forced to ride on the highway again for a couple miles, then out climbing false flats toward the base of the mountains. The dirt route that I had scouted, that would go through, wasn't saving me from any climbing. I would climb up the west-bound zig, then descend the south-bound zag, only needing to climb again when it was time to zig.

I had planned an option for near the end of my trip. Maybe 15 years ago I saw the Rainbow Trail heading south from the Hermit Pass Road. I remembered it being pretty nice, and it looked like mostly a traverse on the topo map. But I knew that I might either be running late or too smoked to make the climb up to the 10,000 foot trailhead, so I had a direct route to the Alvarado Campground mapped.

When I got to the fork in that road, I was moderately smoked. But I had time, I could do the climb and the singletrack if I wanted to. Vapor Trail is coming. I felt like it might not be a bad idea to expose my tired butt to a little hot, mid-day climb up a dusty jeep road. So that's what I did.

This is what a pretty peice of singletrack looks like if we let our guard down and allow the lawn tractors to run amok. This was classic Colorado singletrack at one time. It was moto singletrack, but it was legendary for being "a trail". Now it's a 60" mini-road. Sad.

It was fun though. I rode about 4 miles of this pygmy road. I enjoyed it. Then I rode down into camp to join my sweetie and her nice family, arriving a little after 1 PM.

Eighty miles, 11,570 feet of climbing. Two Red Bulls. That's a good Sunday morning.

Staying up all night

A couple years ago, I did a crazy all night thing involving a mountain bike. I have fond memories of that night. After last night, I'm wondering if I'm really remembering it clearly.

The 2009 Vapor Trail 125 is coming. I'm planning to do it this year, avenging my failed attempt to finish the beast in 2007.

Seems like crazy, all night things involving mountain bikes need a bit of practice. So I decided to re-experience that night in late July, 2007. Leave from town after the sun goes down on my bike with my lights, climb to Marshall Pass, climb to the top of the Agate Creek Trail, descend Agate, climb to Old Monarch, ride the Crest-Silver Creek-Rainbow Trail.

I decided to invite a friend to join me this time, since I really expected it to be lots of fun!

Lee Blackwell was my victom. He does crazy things like this sometimes. And he's also signed up for the Vapor Trail 125. And, well, he was willing to go with me.

Look how fresh and excited we are!



Now look at this blank, vacant, character pointing out a public service announcement. Does he look like he gives a hoot?

Here's a bit of the night-time story:

We left Salida at around 9:30. As my memory (which is suspect) serves, we were sitting on our butts in the gravel at the top of Marshall Pass eating and talking about clothing and perspiration at around 1:30 AM. I was feeling really crappy. I climb to Marshall all the time. I've done it more than half a dozen times this year. Why did it work me over so badly last night? Lee and I have theories, but lets just say that I was slow, and Lee got cold waiting for my slow ass to make it to the pass.

Then it was time to climb south from Marshall up onto the Crest Trail to get to the top of Agate. During this time, I wished I could feel a little better so that I could just feel like crap. I was getting dopey from no sleep, and I just felt tired and worked over. I was eating, I was drinking, I wasn't too cold. Just not feeling good. And I was riding poorly too--I felt very clumsy.

And Lee spent time waiting on my slow ass. And got cold.

When I finally caught up to Lee at the top of the Agate Creek Trail, he was talking about how reluctant he was to get his shoes soaked in cold, cold Agate Creek in the middle of the night. I had been thinking that A) I was a total clod, and should probably not be trying to descend Agate in that state, and B) it would really be lots of work to get down there and then get back up to Old Monarch.

It was unanimous. Neither of us wanted to go down there. So we decided to just ride the Crest on to Monarch and then see from there. I drank a Red Bull. That was a good idea.

It was really, really dark. I know--nighttime is like that. But there was no moon until after 3:30 AM. The stars were exhileratingly beautiful, and we saw several dramatic meteorites streaking across the sky. But it was kind of like being in a sensory deprivation experiment. It was working on both our brains.

As 4:00 AM approached, I started actually feeling a little better. And Lee started talking about naps. We made our way to the beginning of the singletrack, a couple miles from Monarch Pass, and Lee found himself a comfy bit of knick knick and laid down to rest. I sipped on another Red Bull and took a picture of myself pointing at a "Give a Hoot, Don't Pollute" sign on the trailhead kiosk.

At around 4:30, we headed back to the south, back toward Marshall. And the pink glow became visible in the east. Once that started happening, both of us perked up.

At first light, Lee makes some clothing changes.



Pre-sunrise twilight on the Crest.



Sunrise at Marshall Pass (Lee takes a 2nd brief nap here).



We make our way to the top of Silver Creek, where the light was magic.

Similarly, the light in the Silver Creek drainage was something else.

Riding all night is always a trip. Last night's experience definitely supports that assertion.

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.