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.