There’s a lot going on these days. Wouldn’t have it any other way, though I’m going to need to catch my breath at some point.
First, Mike Curiak is up for voting into the MTB Hall of Fame. His nomination is here: http://tinyurl.com/mertzw. He’s up against some pretty serious competition, and I may be biased, but I think the ultra endurance scene is woefully under represented in this sort of thing. I’d urge anyone that can spare the $20 (you have to be a member to vote) to help us vote him in.
Also worth voting for is Steve Anderson in the advocacy category. The guy is a trail hero on all levels. I’ve had the pleasure of working with Steve on the AZT and other Southern AZ projects and he is a top notch guy that has done an incredible amount of work for the MTB community.
If you want to vote, go here. Both of these guys really deserve the recognition, IMO.
Pete during the AZT 300
Thoughts go out to Pete Basinger who was hit by a truck while ripping out another solid divide race effort. He’s OK, but he suffered a broken clavicle and a broken bone in his arm, not to mention other road rash, cuts, etc. What a terrible way to have to drop out of the divide. I had a semi-secret SPOT tracker up on TopoFusion and had been following Pete the whole way, cheering him on as he matched or bettered record pace despite some serious mechanical (and weather) set backs. I am happy he is OK, but sad that a successful divide run still remains elusive for him.
Speaking of the Divide, Matt Lee wrapped up yet another win under brutal conditions, and the race still goes on. The tracker / leaderboard, which I’ve dumped a lot of work into the past few weeks, is here:
There is still the possibility of a new tracking business out of all of this, but so far we have not been able to settle on specifics and there have been some difficulties.
Shimmy Coco Mingo Pop
Chad has stepped up to the plate and is putting on a race on the route we toured last week, aka Coco-mingo-bob. Race thread here. I love everything except the name… needs something more memorable/creative….
The rides continue here in Flagstaff. I can get used to the trails being so close and of such ‘choice’ nature. Paula and I have had fun further exploring the urban trails network. I’m up to my usual randomness in the trail system, and have also managed some good rides with the likes of Gnome, Troy, Benson and such.
I learn a lot when riding by myself, but also when riding with others.
D’oh! She ran Sunset trail and about 500 yards before finishing, crashed into the only puddle on the mountain. Luckily her back is OK, but no more crashing, OK?
Alright, off to take a crack at the Breck Epic course maps.
Completing the Grand Loop last month left Chad and I feeling a little empty. We knew there were better loops out there, waiting to be dreamed up, explored and possibly raced. One such route presented itself to us as we drove back from the Grand Loop, through Northern Arizona. The idea - Flagstaff, Sedona, Prescott, Williams, in one fell swoop.
Not even a month later, we saddled up to try it. I called Lee, knowing it was an outside chance, but he signed on instantly. You know you have good friends when an impromptu 4-day bikepacking trip quickly becomes a reality.
And what better way to start a bikepack than by rolling out from home? Courtesy the new digs in downtown Flag, we staged from here. After some last minute track cutting/merging/simplifying in TopoFusion, we were ready to roll.
We headed south of town on urban paths, jumping on the AZT. Lee and I missed a few miles of trail here on our 2005 trip, due to inclement weather (mud). And I’ve only ever ridden it in the dark, limping into Flagstaff. So it was great to be riding in daylight and with Lee along, setting out for adventures anew.
It’s a nice ride, and new fences meant horses and/or elk were kept off the normally uber-bumpy stuff on Marshal Mesa. It was in the best shape I’ve seen it in.
Ah, the life of a bikepacker…
This was the start of some very sweet and new-to-us AZT. Whoever built the contour trail around Mormon Mountain deserves an award.
We filled up on water at the Knights of Columbus campground. Then it was time to bid the AZT farewell after 30 enjoyable miles.
We thought we could improve on Chad’s Coconino Dirty Century route, but bushwhacking isn’t really much of an improvement. So it goes in exploratory riding.
Soon enough we were on Schnebly Hill Rd, destined to bomb off the edge of the world and into Sedona.
Another feather in Lee’s cap — bikepack Sedona!
Thanks to Chad’s knowledge of the area we needed no GPS track, and we hooked onto Hot Loop, doing some techy climbing to a prime campsite.
The views from camp were, as they say, pretty OK.
Chad tries (and fails) to capture the beauty on his iPhone. Still kinda cool that he was able to make live facebook updates with pics during the ride.
It was an eventful night, with warm temps, a few bugs and a skunk in camp. The skunk dined on nuts out of Lee’s feedbag, and later walked over to visit me. It was a little tenuous for a while, but he was friendly enough and just looking for a snack.
Chad takes in the morning view, before saddling up for some Sedona singletrack.
It was a most excellent descent, into the heat of the morning.
photo by Lee Blackwell
Breakfast burritos at Circle K. We filled up our packs with ice, knowing it was going to be a scorcher of a ride down to Cottonwood (elevation ~3000 feet).
Sedona singletrack is hard to beat. Descending down to Oak Creek was a hoot. Stopping at Buddha Beach for a dip was pretty much mandatory.
We pedaled some pavement to Red Rock state park, where there was rumored to be a trail leading all the way to Cottonwood.
Such rumors were true. A bit of Sedona-esque ST, some fun double track, and then very faint but quite rideable and followable singletrack on the other side of highway 89a. It was pretty cool to be exploring this rarely used trail.
Plus… a bit of hike-a-bike (note Sedona in the far background).
The real treat was the last few miles, which were adorned with IMBA stickers and graced with many a bike tire. That can only mean one thing — sweet riding.
It reminded me of the Lunch Loops in GJ, with drops, side lines and even similar vegetation. It was extremely hot (98 degrees) and sunny, but for some reason I really liked it. I’ve been more cold than warm up here in Flagstaff (that’s not a complaint!), and it felt good to finally not have any doubt that it was too warm.
photo by Lee Blackwell
Pulled Pork and burgers were destroyed at “Hog Wild”, as we plotted for the next challenge — climbing. We had dropped some 4000 feet from Flagstaff (seemed like much more!) and now it was time to pay the piper.
On our way out we randomly passed the bike shop. Chad bought a new tire and I tried to hit up the grumpy employee for Mingus Trail info. He didn’t really want to talk.
The whole Mingus area was the biggest unknown of the ride, and it had the potential to be the most difficult. Information was sketchy and consisted mostly of grunts and half sentences from shuttle monkeys on MTBR.
We stalled at Maverick in town until passing clouds became building clouds. It was hot and uncomfortable as we pedaled uphill with 200+ oz of water. But clouds blocked the sun and spat life giving cool water onto us. It was downright comfortable by the time we got to 5000′.
“What if not for these clouds?”
“I’d be back in Cottonwood, at the hospital, with IV’s in my arm right now.”
The climb was STEEP, but just rideable. We contoured briefly before meeting singletrack. It started off well and I thought we were really on to something. But before long it turned super steep, eroded and full of challenging hike-a-bike.
It was a tough spot to be, and the towers did not seem to be getting any closer. Some contouring near the top gave hope, but the summit push required just that — a bunch of pushing. At the top we couldn’t find any obvious water, but we did find a prime camp site:
(Taken the next morning). Another 4000′+ view to wake up to! I fell asleep instantly and only awoke once during the night. Best bikepacking sleep ever. Sunrise view from the bivy bag:
There was no water to be found at the top. The water system was shut off for maintenance. Our map indicated a Yeager Ranger Station at the exit of our singletrack descent, so we figured it was no big deal. We also had plenty that had been hand carried from Cottonwood.
Expectations for the Yeager (#28) trail were not high, given the quality of our climb up the mountain (which was trail #106, the “view point” trail). But it did not disappoint! This trail rocked our world!
Checkout Prescott in the distance in the above pic.
Hit it Chad! Hit it! Umph!! He needs to work on his bikepacking micro hucking skills.
Sweet singletrack brought us to the ’site’ of the Ranger Station that was no more. Doh. Next reliable source of water was the Verde River, some 40+ miles of unknown territory away. Once again, good thing we had carried so much up the monster Mingus climb.
I spent about 60 seconds drawing this route on TopoFusion, and I did not trust it. There was some pleasant riding, good views and such, but we got into some hassles too. Fence hopping, private property skirting, ah the trials of the exploratory bikepacker.
photo by Chad Brown
A sub-optimal water source is better than nothing. We filled up some bottles “just in case.”
They weren’t needed. The Great Western Trail took us on an old railroad grade around the backside of Mingus and onto Perkinsville Road. Time to drop!
Bill Williams mountain is right above Lee’s head in the above shot. We dropped to 3500′ again, and this time were eying to climb to 9000′.
The Verde wasn’t the best tasting water, but you can’t be picky in the desert. We jumped in to cool off, with Lee trying to get his core temperature “just a hair above hypothermia” for the climb ahead. Our timing was perfect — sun while we hid under the bridge, and glorious clouds as soon as we were ready to leave.
The Perkinsville climb was made possible solely by the grace of those clouds. In a way it’s amazing that we were about to complete this ride in June (without hiding every afternoon). Luckily it has not been a typical June, and the clouds and occasional micro drops were our continual saviors.
Lee left both Chad and I in the dust throughout the Perkinsville climb. I laughed as Lee attacked Chad and Chad responded, getting ahead for a while. By the next time I caught a glimpse of them Lee was well ahead and showing no signs of slowing down. Even later on in the climb it was clear that Lee was feeling very strong and that his pace was too much for both of us. I felt good/strong, but not at such speeds. It was really cool to see Lee flying.
photo by Lee Blackwell
Chad, shambilized by Lee’s blistering pace.
Suddenly we were in the forest, and glad of it. Heat worries were no more, and dark clouds foreshadowed our fate.
Pleasant forest riding led to a trailhead. We didn’t know what to expect, but designation as a National Recreation Trail is almost always a good sign.
Benham was a bikepacker’s dream — 95% rideable uphill — even the switchbacks!
I took the lead and was in the zone, busting out switchback after switchback in my 20×36 super granny. Chad yelled from below, “look to the left… we’re about to get wet!”
We had planned to sleep at the top, but that looked doubtful with the widespread rain and given the elevation (~9000 feet). We rode deliberately towards the top, hoping to get as far down the trail as we could before the rain really settled in.
We made it over the top before things got too wet. Chad and I took the lead down the holy-crap-this-is-awesome trail! We were flying, and it was hard not to just keep riding, pushing in to town. It’s not that we were riding in a panic, just a small sense of urgency with rain and darkness creeping in. I stopped to wait for Lee, who had been layering up and readying for the descent. While stopped I realized there was nothing to hurry for. It was warm, I was comfortable and the trail wasn’t going to turn to goop or anything. Best to slow down and enjoy it.
What a trail. The rain and dark only made it more fun / challenging.
We rode a soaking mile or two into Williams and ponied up a few bucks for a motel room and delivered pizzas. As the rain continued we were glad to have a roof over head.
It rained at night and even in the morning. We left town on forest roads where Chad could do his best “Tour Divide” impression. Shout out to our TD buddies!
Rejoining the “Pines to Mines” route, we hopped onto singletrack along the rim of Sycamore Canyon Wilderness.
It was surprisingly techy / slow. All good fun.
Lee just can’t take anymore of this darn sweet singletrack.
Classic MC macro shot.
View from our lunch stop along the rim.
A 3X Lenz Leviathan ride. Definitely a choice bike for this ride. Though I would have loved to be on the Behemoth, too…
More Sycamore goodness.
A few hours of pleasant dirt roads took us closer to the San Francisco Peaks
photo by Chad Brown
And finally, back to Flagstaff just as a storm pounded the city — refreshing, as was the trip in general. Linking all this quality singletrack in a not-too-heinous loop was very satisfying. Then there’s the exploration, the discovery and of course the company. Hard to imagine better people to ride with, and the humor and laughs were off the chart.
216 miles, 24,000′ elevation gain, 4 days. Look for this loop as a new race this fall!
It’s hard to believe, but not long after breaking her back, Paula’s running and riding again. We’re keeping the rides mellow/smooth, of course, and likewise for the runs. One ride was to head south on the AZT from Flagstaff.
Well, we rode more urban path than singletrack, but it’s AZT. This area (above) is a black hole in my mind. It’s almost like I wasn’t there. I was a hurting unit coming into Flagstaff, after getting lost in the dark by Marshal Lake, and increasingly less unsure of where I was going as I approached Flag. I foolishly thought the route would be pretty clear and well traveled.
I didn’t have real GPS data, just a ‘best guess’ (this was 2005, recall) and I trusted it less and less, even as I could see/hear the freeway. Somehow I rolled around the pond and right to a “trail closed” sign. Even though it was daylight now, riding with Paula, I couldn’t figure out where I ended up, but I got trapped on a steep, muddy embankment that I ended up sliding down, to get to the tunnel on the urban path. Taco Bell provided 24 hour salvation, followed by a few hours rest at the Motel 6.
Once again, it’s strange to revisit these places, finally, and pull back memories of what was a pretty darn epic trip for me.
We didn’t follow the AZT long. But Paula did clean a 2 foot ledge, both up and down. When did you say you broke your back again? Two weeks ago?!
We followed a different urban path back — quite a nice one. Flagstaff is really growing on us. Don’t think we could handle the winter, but it sure is perfect right now.
Lee, Chad and I are heading bikepacking / exploring this week. Chad laid it out on his blog. I need a break from the computer and from certain negative aspects of TD tracking, for sure.
I pedaled through a world that was somehow different. The sun was warmer, the clouds cooler. The blood coursed through my body with more power. Each breath was deeper.
…
For a while I feared that I had lost Paula. I was inside when she fell off the ladder. I heard it fall and went outside to find her on the ground, awake but unresponsive. She couldn’t see me and was moving uncontrollably. I ran for the phone, and came back out to try to comfort her as the ambulance arrived.
She fought them and screamed as they put the neck brace on and strapped her down. I looked in her eyes as they were about to load her. She saw me for a moment, a glimmer of recognition. “It’s going to be OK, these people are going to help you.” It only lasted a moment and she was screaming again. She was disoriented and had no idea what had just happened to her. Only that people had tied her down and she didn’t know why.
When I got to the ER the third question the lady at the front asked was, “What are her religious views?” What the hell are you asking me that for? “Is she going to die?” was all I could think.
When they let me back she was calm and the first thing out of her mouth was, “What a way to start a trip to Flagstaff, eh?” I was just glad to hear her talk.
Scans found 4 broken transverse processes in her back, a broken rib and some pooled blood. Hours and hours later she was sharing a hospital room with a drug addict, but most importantly she was standing and even walking, if slowly.
My brother Alan and the lovely Misty dropped everything and flew down to Tucson. It was really great to have them here, and it helped a lot. It also meant I could sneak out for a ride without leaving Paula alone.
Under the cloud canopy the temperature was cool, but exertion flushed my skin with heat. The sun set earlier than I expected. My perception of time is whacked. I wondered how I found myself out there, on familiar trails but with unfamiliar thoughts in my head. Was it catharsis? Purification? Escaping from reality? Appreciation for living life to the fullest, since it can be whisked away in a moment? Endorphin rush? Feeding an addiction that is only silenced for mere days at a time (only briefly after finishing the Grand Loop)?
Probably a little of all. And damn was it good.
I pulled out the Dave Harris mega light and put it on my head. I turned onto an unfamiliar trail and began descending micro-track. I walked down some, thoughts of head injury weighing on me. We don’t need another trip to the hospital.
By the time I reached the wash I felt like the world was coming in on itself. Actually, the light was just dying, and stepping down in power every few minutes. These batteries had gotten me around the Grand Loop, so it wasn’t shocking. I stopped to think if I had any recourse. Nope. Remounting I saw glowing eyes across the way. If I had full power available I could see what was behind the glowing eyes, but with dead batteries all I could see was eyes. I watched the eyes move to my right, continuously checking my position as I did the same in return.
Rain drops on hot skin. The light died completely, and would cycle on and off randomly. I slapped the blinky on my back as I pedaled behind the Resort Hotel, heading straight back for the trailhead.
Just as the light cycled off again, a large blur crossed the road in front of me. I got the light to turn on just long enough to make out another pair of eyes. Then everything turned grey and fuzzy. Out of nowhere a dust devil surrounded me. I closed my eyes and braced myself against the bike. It took forever, eyes squinted into walls of dust, just to ride the last 0.1 miles back to the car. So alive.
A few days later we were driving north in the Corsica. Three bikes, three computers, two cats and a few other odds and ends that would fit in our tiny Sedan. More than enough for the summer. Paula was the driving force to head to Flagstaff, despite the obvious problem of sitting in a car for four hours with a broken back.
She made it with the help of pain meds (which she had not been taking previously). We started settling in to Gnome’s shire, but as soon as the bags hit the floor I jumped on the computer to burn my eyes out on the Tour Divide Tracking System, aka Leaderboard. Getting it to work on a new server and under Drupal, proved more difficult than I had bargained for. That’s computers for ya. There was a lot to be done to set it up for the SPOT folks, as well. I worked late into the night and all the next morning as the race started!
Finally, I shut the computer off, grabbed a bike of choice and headed in a northerly direction. I had glanced at a trail map for a minute, but wanted to get lost more than anything.
I turned on my best AZT senses and followed my nose through downtown Flag to Buffalo Park. Somehow I found a dirt road that took me there, and gradually things started to seem familiar. Distant memories, though. In 2005 I pedaled through Buffalo Park before sunrise, on day five of the AZT time trial. I remember trying to see the edges of the meadow, but my lights could not reach them. I remember the meadow being empty, with freezing predawn October temperatures. So strange to be here with the sun shining bright and joggers and cyclists galore.
Right out of the meadow it gets surprisingly techy. Did I really ride this, loaded, and in the dark?
I saw trail junctions and followed AZT up lower Oldham, retracing my route from ‘05. Again, did I really ride this? What fun.
I decided to let AZT exploration go another day, instead aiming for Mt. Elden. I followed difficult singletrack parallel to the road, dabbing at times, but happy as a clam to be where I was. Soon I was at upper Oldham. Climb trail or road? Trail please.
As is often the case when I go blind into a trail system, I don’t end up riding things in the usual direction. It was clear this trail wasn’t frequently climbed. But I was looking for something to really open up the lungs and burn some stored energy. This was perfect. It even felt good to push my bike up a few pitches, calling into service muscles that have laid dormant since being shredded on the Grand Loop.
Soon I was near the top, looking at an impressive view to the east. I have driven by down there many times and looked west, to where I now stood, wondering what it was like up there. Time to find out.
All the hard parts are marked here. Sunset was an absolute blast. Cold air rushing through the trees and gorgeous ridgeline riding. It was so lonely up there. Little did I know that the next morning would see a horde of racers blasting through.
Hobbit Forest forced a dab. Why am I riding the Lev when this is clearly Behemoth country? I kept taking random choices, spending some time on Brookbank trail before hopping back on the AZT to blast back into Buffalo Park as the sun neared the horizon.
Welcome to Flagstaff. One thing is certain — I’m going to miss this place when we leave.
Meanwhile Paula is doing really well. We went for an hour ‘bike path’ ride over the weekend, and she has started running (with a water jogger) in the pool. I can’t believe how fast she is springing back from the injury.
Pre-Loop: It wasn’t hard to talk Chad into my brilliant (ha!) idea. I dropped a quick email and was surprised when he responded that he was in.
We’d head north a few days later, determined to race the 360 mile Grand Loop, backwards. It had never been done before, but then there’s only a handful of people that have completed it in the ‘correct’ direction, too.
Driving through Moab we were shocked to see fresh snow in the La Sals, with grey walls of doom in every direction. We decided to postpone, rest a day, and more importantly…. do some fun riding with Mike:
We pedaled some wonderful trails that seemed effortless. The unseasonably cool weather was perfect for a late afternoon ride.
photo by Mike Curiak
I tried to keep my enthusiasm in check, but it’s hard to think in terms of energy conservation when you’re feeling great on a perfect day. Save it, save it… you’re going to need it.
photo by Mike Curiak
We decided to add some singletrack as an option for Grand Loop racers. I know, I know, the course is the course is the course is the course. But this course is one that needs a face lift, in my opinion. More singletrack please! Just don’t make it any shorter! We made sure of that.
Mike’s place is the perfect place to stage a Grand Loop assault. We were well rested, super packed (REI a 2 minute ride away) and full of homemade choco-peanutbutter-heaven-crack-ice-cream. Plus Mike will point out everything that’s wrong with your bike, sometimes even without laughing, and sometimes with enough time to do something about it! (It was too late for Chad’s 85 degree head tube angle, but somehow he survived).
photo by Mike Curiak
The Loop Grand: We left Mike’s house at 7am, pedaling a brief prologue to the usual finish line of the Grand Loop: the Tabeguache Trailhead (aka Lunch Loops). Final gear readying, then we were off to climb singletrack.
It was warm already - cursed humidity! What was yesterday effortless today was anything but. But the skill, pedal placement and frequent micro descents were plenty to keep the smiles about.
We saw someone crouched in the bushes. Chad joked that it was Mike taking pictures of flowers. Turns out it was.
photo by Mike Curiak
I fiddled with my SPOT, which was in ‘discotec’ mode. I’ve been pretty wrapped up in these SPOT things lately, if you haven’t already gathered. They make a lot of sense for these kind of ‘events’, and developing the tracking software has been a lot of fun.
It was not long before the hiking started in earnest.
But first! The Rough Canyon slickrock descent was sweet, a hundred and three times over. Perhaps most so because the generated wind meant cooling and drying. But I hit a few 3 footish drops on the way down (rock to rock) that landed beautifully.
This climb just about ended the lifeform known as Scott Morris, three years ago. Totally unexpected, totally brutal, I wanted to cut my head off if only to make the climb end.
A complete breeze it was this year, but we had so much in front of us that the word ‘easier’ wasn’t really in the vocabulary.
Bangs canyon stung us, roasted us, and threw wet bentonite clay at us. I knew it was going to be hard, but I didn’t expect to be hiding in the shade at 7000′ feet. The singletrack drop to Whitewater was nearly all rideable! Yeah! We hurried our water stop somewhat so as to get in front of the herd about to head up our route.
It sort of worked, and we were greeted by a gentle headwind — just enough to keep us cool as we burned rubber up the gradual climbing of Nine Mile.
Many a ’stinger’ awaited us through Cactus Park, Horse Mesa and into Dominguez. I didn’t remember so many ramps so steep. But what goes by in seconds in the other direction is hard to take note of. I knew where all the steep descents were, since they had hurt me so badly back in ‘06.
The sand was firm near Dominguez, and totally rideable. I expected to walk a lot, even with all the rain. Somehow I got the feeling that the rains would take back whatever advantage we were gaining now…
A half hour break at Dominguez gave us water and full bellies. We climbed quickly out of ‘the desert’ into grassy meadows lined by aspen trees. Finally, it was not warm.
After an entire day of climbing, we were at 9500 feet, on the divide of the Uncompahgre Plateau. We were in the game, but the game was just starting.
A grader with a view.
It was a beautiful evening to pedal the divide road. These are some of the best miles of the whole route. Big views, near-pavement surface, no traffic, and cool temps.
The cool temps were turning to cold. I layered up big time for the Love Mesa descent (Chad noted on his GPS that we were less than five miles from the route, some 100+ miles later, at that point), but it was not enough.
I was losing my feet and hands by the time we had dropped. We stopped in the middle of the road, rehydrating food and sitting in our sleeping bags, trying to warm back up.
All I remember is climbing on the “singletrack” at the end of the Roubideau traverse. Of course that was a failed memory. It was super soggy, vague and not that much fun. And it only gets harder from there.
I was dismayed at the condition of the “trail” for the first creek crossing. I didn’t remember it being overgrown and unrideable even downhill. I thought we were really in for something, but we soon merged onto a more beaten road. Ah, the Roubideau we all know and love!
If I was doing the pushing during the daylight hours, Chad took over the charge in the dark of Roubideau. He stayed at the front and pioneered most of the creek crossings, which were none too easy in the dark. A few times my Dave Harris special mega light helped show the way. As cold as it was, neither of us wanted to dunk a foot in the water. But we both ended up with a few dunkings anyway. It didn’t matter much — our feet were getting soaked from the dew on all the brush — dew at 11pm?!
Chad dropped his bike on one crossing, but it didn’t look major. It was major enough to ‘86′ his GPS, unfortunately. We thought it was water, but we later determined it was more likely the blow. Chad began to wonder about his options if we were to split up. But at the time I had no desire to move any faster, that’s for sure. I told him we were in it for the long run.
Eventually the cold of the night got to us. About two (of 15) drainages from the end, we threw out the bivy gear and got a couple hours of shut eye. I really thought we would have made it further before stopping, but hitting Roubideau with all of the Tab in our legs was more than I bargained for.
Our nap was just enough to jumpstart the system. As the day dawned we saw what we’d been missing, and the one thing that makes Roubideau tolerable. The scenery…
Roubideau was done quick enough, then we set to climbing back to the divide road. I expected to walk most of it, but it was quite rideable, if a little muddy. Max and Josh came coasting down the hill, big smiles on their faces. It was fun to meet them and hear a bit about their ride. The biggest question on my mind was: how much snow on the singletrack just ahead? They didn’t know — they had skipped it.
I’d seen snow at ~9400′ on the Divide Road. Not a good sign.
Sure enough, there was more than enough snow to go around up there. Where there wasn’t snow, the trail was absolutely saturated with water, and often flowing straight down the trail. Or, when dry, it was like this:
What a piece of trail. And what an asinine layout.
We were not amused. The thought of bailing out to Pool Creek occurred, knowing it would be an hour+ to traverse the rest of the snowed in singletrack. But we didn’t ride all the way up here to cut corners. We froze our feet off and slid around, finally emerging on the powerline.
It was noon. Six hours to make it to Bedrock store before it closed, 65 miles away. It was possible to make it, but neither of us were in the mood to push and not make it. The snow and singletrack had really kicked us when we were already down from Roubideau. Looking at the numbers now it sure seems like we could have made it, but it’s easy to say that sitting here at home, warm, rested and far removed.
Down we go! Blasting Houser Road like it’s nothing. For some strange reason I wished I was climbing it. Certainly a better grade that 95% of the climbing we’d done to get onto the plateau (yesterday).
I made a bad error here. I skipped water up high, thinking we could get some right before Glencoe or on Glencoe. It was hard to think in terms of loading up on water — for the last 14+ hours excess water had been our bane.
There’s water up there, but very little flowing, and nothing free from cattle. In ‘06 the cattle weren’t allowed back there, and streams were flowing. Oh well. Never pass up a good water source, especially when the miles to the next probable source are nearly all downhill.
Glencoe was bumpy, and Chad’s rigid fork did little to protect him from it. Any time I’d comment on how rough or bumpy a certain section was Chad’s response was always, “want to switch bikes?” He had a good point.
Glencoe was a highlight of the ride in the other direction, but it kinda sucked to descend it this year. Now, descending off Pinto Mesa was a surprise hit. Last time I was a freckle away from heatstroke the entire climb. This time it was super fun techy descending.
And then we were at the windmill in Spradlin Park. The exit point for my special off-route detour to the town of Nucla. We were low on water and with food from town we could then ride past Bedrock, riding into the night. It seemed like a no brainer.
Until, that is, we actually started to ride the detour to Nucla. It didn’t look familiar. I puzzled at the hills, the GPS, but no luck. Memory was not coming back. The road was grassed over. Only cattle trails remained. We turned Chad’s GPS on for the moment it would stay on since it held the track that would take us to Nucla. No dice. We rode back to the windmill. But then it looked familiar again, so we dropped back down again. Now the cursing began. Why can’t I remember? Why had I been so confident we’d make Bedrock with time to spare? Why hadn’t I planned on Nucla as a backup? Or carried full food?! Or filled up big on water up high?
I was beating myself up pretty good. Chad pulled it together and suggested just riding on with the Paradox, taking a break and strategizing for a store opening at Bedrock. I wanted to make it to Nucla, but the one thing I did not want to do was waste hours lost, trying to get there.
So we pushed up the steepest hill of the entire Grand Loop, back on the Paradox ‘trail.’ Paul Koski, what a piece of work! You’re awesome! That hill does lead to an incredible gooseberry mesa area, where we both could envision a primo trail network. As we crested the hill the clouds rolled in and we spied a pool of fresh rain water in the slickrock. Ditch the cow water, get some fresh stuff!
Up and down, up and down, then drop into Tab creek for a couple hours of rest.
Knowing that time was on our side, we waited for the sun to lower before hitting the climb to Spring Creek Mesa.
It was quite an evening to be on a bike. Rideable trails, fresh (?!) legs, dry / clean (!) clothes. Not a care in the world.
The sun set behind the La Sals, our target for tomorrow. A bit of nighttime descending (look out for cows!) led us to a boulder studded campsite, just above the Delores river. Perfect for a full night’s rest.
I woke after ~6 hours, more than primed and ready to ride. But there was nowhere to ride — the store would not be open and we needed food. Best let the sun come up.
The morning light brought more enjoyable riding, through the San Miguel and Delores gorges. We wondered why anyone would want to detour around this fabulous stretch, in favor of more hike-a-bike! It’s one of the best parts. Note the remnants of the flume in the upper right of the above photo.
Bedrock was just open when we got there, and provided plenty of tasty treats, both for our bellies and our feed bags.
Bring it on, Carpenter Ridge! It was warm, but the goal was clear: attain the ridge.
It was awesome to see Chad ride nearly the whole thing, with 180+ miles of brutal SS’ing in his legs and grades beyond 10%. The big rest had led to excess energy, and I began to think it was going to be too easy to knock this thing out in under 3 days. Kokopelli’s trail seemed so close, and we were ready to launch our assault.
Uh oh. Rumbles over our shoulder. We tried to outrun it, but bikes are not fast and road routing never favorable. Pull out the rain gear and prepare to get pelted by hail. We descended out of the hail and cold only to be greeted with goopy mud. Pretty soon the only way to even push the bike was to follow the water running down the ruts.
It was not a comfortable place to be, mostly because we were in a huge meadow, with no tree cover, and the lightning crashes were frequent and none too far. “Knock it off already, we get the point!” Unfortunately there was very little we could do, since travel was in the sub-2mph range. I suppose we could have ditched the bikes and fled for trees, but that was about it.
Across Taylor Park we could see another cyclist, and he was riding! What??
It was Marshal. I still don’t know how he was riding, or how he wasn’t freezing in the picture above. I guess he didn’t get pounded by hail at 9000′, but still…
He was having a tough day, but seemed more upbeat about the mud than either of us drowned rats. We said goodbye and soon spied another rider. Is that Harris? No way! It didn’t compute, but nothing really did. Both Marshal and Harris had started after us and were going the other direction on the Grand Loop.
Dave went on to set a new course record, shaving off ~7 hours despite the mud slow down. (His writeup is here).
Yep, that’s everyone’s favorite kind of mud.
We kept pushing along the meadows, occasionally trying the road. Paco the sheepherder came by to ask if we had seen his shoe. He was wandering the meadows like us, looking for it. I tried to express (in pathetic Spanish) how impossible these conditions were for cycling (and how nice it’d be to be on a horse!). Chad teaches Spanish, so he had an interesting talk with Paco. He said that the road would dry out in a couple hours. We didn’t really have a couple hours to wait, though.
So we pushed on. Eventually the trail went down and Chad disappeared while I was poking at my bike with a stick, trying to get rid of mud so my wheels would spin. After a while I couldn’t see Chad’s foot prints — he must be riding!
As quickly as I got on I realized that my rear brake was gone. The mud and snow back on the Tabeguache trail had brought the pad to near nothing. The hailstorm had been the final blow — I was braking on pure metal.
I wasn’t yet sure that this was a good thing to do, so I was hesitant to use the rear brake. What happens when you overload the bike (with mud) and use only front brake? You go down!
I almost got a face full of mud, but just barely got my feet out and over the bike, and somehow kept myself up as I slid down the sloppy road.
No sign of Chad, I cleared the bike and hopped on again. The mud flew as speed increased, and somehow the tires did not lock up. I found him washing his bike off in a small puddle. We were demoralized, but the current road looked rideable.
After stopping to thoroughly clean the bikes in a running ditch, we were pedaling, gingerly, again.
Kokopelli’s Trail, at last! I had hoped to be here four hours ago! We filled up big time on water at Fisher Creek. What we didn’t treat was being blasted off the mountain.
Ack! More peanut butter of the worst kind. With “clean” bikes we were unwilling to have them pile them up, so we carried for some time. The rain had been 4-5 hours ago, but this road seemed worse than if it had been freshly rained on.
Every once in a while we’d put the bikes down only to confirm that it was still too sticky even to roll the bike along our sides. But it did not last long, and soon we were blasting through wet sand, finally on the big descent out of the mountains.
We were both happy to be back in the desert, and beginning to feel our soggy feet dry out. I knew that our timing was bad, though. No matter what we did we would find ourselves in the heat of the day on Kokopelli’s trail. We would soon wish to be back in the mountains.
Darkness settled in as we hit the base of Rose Garden Hill. We stopped to dry out and shove calories into our weakening bodies. It was a good break, and after pushing up Rose Garden, I found that much of the ensuing techy climbing was rideable!
Perhaps the best riding of the entire Grand Loop — just hard enough for stimulating challenge (esp. at night!) but not so hard that energy usage was questionable. Actually I didn’t care much about the energy expenditure — I was having too much fun.
I don’t know why I thought descending the “shandies” would be tolerable. Slide slide, brake brake, curse curse. “This sucks” … Chad: “Want to switch bikes?”.
Chad’s lights started to die as we neared the Colorado River at Dewey bridge. We rode together with the super light on high beam. It was amusing to light up cliffs on the other side of the canyon.
We threw out the bivy gear for a couple hours rest. In my mind we were doomed to a hot slog up the Koko, might as well accept our fate and grab a wink or two of sleep.
As we packed up in the pre-dawn glow, Jefe and Matt came by:
They had started at the “traditional” Grand Loop time/location, and had ridden all night. I made Jefe laugh with my talk of “this loop is just ridiculous” and “never again.” Jefe would go on to go several hours under the previous course record, having a hell of a race.
The sun crept up slowly on the colorful cliffs of Yellowjacket. Our energy level rose just as slowly. Or at least mine did. For some reason I thought it a good idea to look at the GPS repeatedly, showing plainly that we were making little progress to our goal — Loma, some 70 miles away.
We would parallel the Colorado River for all of those 70 miles, and though I knew the air temperature was never that hot, I could not argue with my body which ached for shade and a cessation of all forward movement.
It was really neat to finally see these long miles of the Kokopelli during the day. I have twice ridden through here in the dark, and have been thoroughly confused by it. Some sections are depressingly bleak, and others wonderfully beautiful.
At some point we met Jim L, another Grand Looper heading the other way. We talked briefly, and it wasn’t until Chad and I stopped and huddled under some reeds (providing the only sliver of shade we’d seen for miles) that we tried to process the encounter. He was carrying two big bottles of soda, and among other reasons we both questioned if he was real or a mirage. Needless to say, we were getting a bit loopy from the heat and our days on the trail, and pretty soon we were laughing hysterically, still huddled under the reeds.
So many uphills resulted in walking. It was getting old. It was lonely out on the trail, and it felt like we were the only ones dumb enough to be out there.
It’s all a matter of perspective. With 300 miles in the legs and not so much sleep, moderate inclines become difficult and the sun has considerable influence. We were reminded of all this by a few supported tour riders going the other way. They were absolutely attacking the steep climb out of Bitter Creek, which to us was clearly unrideable. No one could be having fun on these steep climbs, on this hot a day, could they?
These guys were.
Back in our reality, the suffering continued. By the time we reached Rabbit Valley we were absolutely baking in the sun. The unwanted tail wind did not help.
Precious shade! I pulled out my toothbrush, realizing I had forgotten to clean the old pearly whites last night. Just then some considerate ATVers blasted by, leaving a wall of dust in my face. Thanks. More side splitting, loopy humor. I don’t remember what we were laughing about, but I had to spit out the water in my mouth at one point.
Perhaps the hardest part of the whole ride was the ‘easy’ graded road miles beside I-70, approaching Salt Creek. The tail wind made the sun feel like an oven, and I knew what was coming: singletrack, but not of the good sort.
Time to bail the bike! Erosion, stupid trail design, unrideable. But, hey, it’s singletrack and it’s been a while. My rear brake screamed every time I touched it, metal slowly scraping away on the rotor. It’s good to know that you can continue to brake with no pads, 100+ miles after destroying them.
We cooled off at Salt Creek, dunking our shirts, shivering as we put them back on, then heading back into the sun. Dark clouds were in every direction, but we had not had a hint of sun blockage all day.
There’s quite a bit of good trail, interspersed with tid bits of hike-a-bike. I was enjoying it on some level, but wanting to be done on others. It hit me that you do the best riding of the Grand Loop at the start and end, which makes it hard to enjoy fully. At least for me.
It was strange to see other cyclists on the trail, just out for an innocuous ride. We pedaled into Loma for a finish time of 3 days, 11 hours and 2 minutes. Phew. Now to endure 4 miles of interstate riding in search of hot food. Oh yeah!
2000 calories of Taco Bell later, we were strangely re-energized. We figured out a route back to Grand Junction, and once back on the road I couldn’t believe how good I felt with belly full and sun hiding behind clouds, about to go down.
370 miles, 48,000′ elevation gain, 3 days, 11 hours and 2 minutes.
