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!