Diary of Scott Morris

Bum left knees on the both of us. But LOOK, we are pedaling bikes together, finally! The last ride we did together was back in Boulder.

I turned around after five minutes of easy awkward pedaling on this ride, but it’s only been up from there. For both of us.

Less riding means lots of computer time, which is a good thing with Tour Divide coming right up and after a week+ spent camping. But I can only take so much before my brain turns to mush and longs for less time indoors, more time outdoors. I was knee deep in a fabulous quagmire of javascript, php, and C, working on new raceflow features for the divide, when one word came to mind, “Enough!”.

“Let’s go camping!”

“OK!! When do you want to go, tomorrow?”

“No, I was thinking today…”

30 minutes from “Let’s go camping!” we were in the Sports Van, pulling out of the driveway. 30 minutes after that, including a stop at City Market, we had secured the prime spot at Hermosa Creek.

Bikes were unloaded, and 1:20 from “Let’s go camping!” we were on the trail.

Hermosa Creek is only fun if you enjoy zooming through the trees. Luckily, we most definitely do, especially after a dearth of such things.

“I haven’t ridden in the deep dark wood for soo long!” We camped at Hermosa for more than a week, and Eszter never got to ride it; stupid knee!

I woke up several times to the soothing sound of the wind rushing through the trees, and each time I was glad not to be in the too-hot house trying to fall asleep (we’ve been too stubborn to turn on the A/C at the house — it’s not *that* hot!).

We set out in the morning for something of a dubious plan. Climbing Jones Creek may or may not be considered “knee friendly.” Turning off to explore a new trail may or may not be considered a knee friendly decision. But we went for it anyway.

Controlled pedal strokes in ye old granny gear brought us to the top of Jones, and this meadow, still happily filled with dandelions and greenery so bright it hurts the eyes.

Strict adherence to a Durango Knee Recovery Program would have dictated a 180 degree turn and a ripping descent. But come on, who are we dealing with here?

We knew we were pushing it, but the temptation of a new trail, a loop, and an adventurita proved too hard to resist.

Had we turned around, we would have missed ridgeline trail like this.

Hike-a-bike like this.

And a never-ending descent, shockingly chunky and just enough to wake the adrenal system up. We both joked about sitting in the creek while the other fetched the car and camp (sitting out of a 1000′ climb), but we both pedaled it, to surprisingly good knees.

Finally, a real mountain bike ride. Together.

the view from sleeping pads, just imagine whoooshing of the wind to accompany

We collapsed in the shade, spent a few minutes packing up camp, then headed back to town for plates full of tacos and a soak in the river. Ah, yes, summertime, and the living is eaaaaaasy. A 24 hour mini-vacation, perfect for renewing ability to sit indoors and hack tracking code.

This morning, the knees aren’t showing any ill effects, happily. A few more town rides and hopefully we’ll be ready to get out into the mountains that continue to call LOUDLY.

Back to trackleaders. 140+ riders in the divide this year. It’s going to be huge, and it’s going to be super fun to watch. Can’t wait.

June 13th, 2013 | Category: Mountain Biking | Comments (1)

We’ve landed in Durango for the summer! I can’t imagine anywhere else I’d rather be. It feels like… paradise.

Unfortunately both Eszter and I are currently sidelined with hurt knees, but nevertheless, we are in Durango, which is more than enough reason to be excited (and grateful). Grumpy knees will heal, and we’ll be back riding soon enough.

Here’s how we got here.

While Eszter wrapped up teaching in Boulder, the Front Range rides continued. Spring is simply beautiful, and the trails are all new to me.

Except this one. When Eszter’s knee started giving her trouble, Jeny and I got together for a few techy rides.

No fun was had, no moves were re-done. Just another boring day at White Ranch. I spent a summer in Golden, and these trails were a favorite. That year I had probably the deadest legs of any summer (an AZT 300, Koko and Grand Loop 3-pack will do that to you), but was happy to see that White Ranch really is steep and full of suffering. Maybe my legs weren’t as toast as I thought.

On to Evergreen. It’s been too long since Jeny took me for a tour of the rocks in her hometown.

My nemesis corner. If hopping is allowed one can go straight up the white rock on the left. But if it’s not, and in Jeny’s hood it is emphatically not, you can’t.

You have to fight your way up the chute, as demonstrated.

This little girl saw Jeny make the nemesis corner, and started screaming, “You’re amazing!” “And that’s a girl!!!” Instant heroine status, and future switchback rider inspired?

I never made it despite over 20 tries.

Tricky switchbacks, JJ’s specialty.

photo by Jeny Ellinger

She still doesn’t have full knee clearance, so the silly rock moves were left to me. It was fun to revisit these, and see that a few people were riding them.

Rocking the pavers on Heil Ranch marked the last Boulder ride for me, racing roadies both to and from the trail. We loaded up bikes into cars and headed for Durango. We didn’t really have much of a plan, just a belief that things would work out when we got there. A desire to spend time, together, in an amazing new place was all we really needed.

We arrived at the Hermosa Creek campground just in time to grab one of the last Memorial Weekend spots, and in time to take a surreal spin on the Hermosa Trail.

Various short rides on the “Test Tracks”, Hermosa Creek and the Colorado Trail ensued. We’d head to town for library internet and cheap tacos, searching for a place to rent and taking care of emails and the business of the day. Then ride, and head back to camp to enjoy the evening. The ‘dirtbag’ lifestyle has its many appealing qualities.

Pretty sure that’s not the proper routing for a chain. I thought my ride was done, but I pulled out links and straightened others and the ride went on!

I stuffed flowers in my jersey pocket to bring back to Eszter. I miss riding with her, badly. She’d been given the ‘no ride’ orders from boss Lynda. Knee needs time to heal.

We weren’t making much headway on a place to live while people and businesses were out for the Holiday, so I went for a big(ger) ride. I had yet to ride all of the Hermosa Creek Trail, and it was high time. I pedaled the highway for twenty miles or so, and climbed through Purgatory ski resort, self-shuttling it. My map indicated singletrack on the south side of Hermosa Creek, leading to the proper trailhead of Hermosa. I found a 2-track that took me to the last of the backside ski lifts (“Legends”), but no further. I hiked up the ski slope to investigate a few promising benches that looked trail-like from below, but found nothing rideable.

Back across the park, toss the bike across the creek, then hop across. All in good exploratory fun.

I got back on the graded road to the trailhead and had an interesting encounter with an motorcyclist. He trailed me for a while, then pulled up and asked how fast I was going. I flipped my GPS over to the trip computer and replied, “15 or 16 miles per hour.”

“Good, I’ll just ride behind you.”

“Umm, ok, either way!”

And all worth it for the payoff — coasting down Hermosa Creek on truly blissful trail.

I can see why this trail is so popular, and why it is heavily shuttled. I felt a great sense of appreciation for the endless coasting, having been on the bike for some time, and having ridden a lot of roads to get there. I also felt a great sense of strength in my legs, truly warmed up and wanting more.

I started seeing the fresh imprint of bike shoes in the dust. Someone is hurting on the climbs, walking stuff not even that steep. Oh, wait, they are walking the flats and downhills too. Uh oh.

I came upon a rider carrying his bike. We took a look at his wheel again. Rear bearings on the brake side completely seized up, and no way to get at them. His friends eventually came back and tried to figure out an extraction plan, but it wasn’t looking too good. He was facing an awkward and long 8+ mile walk. I gave the rider most of the water I had, and when he insisted I save some for myself I said, “it’s OK, I’m from Tucson, I’ll be fine.”

“Wait, are you Scott?”

Kurt had been in touch about GPS, bikepacking and reads here. He had kindly helped try to find us a place to stay in Durango as well.

There wasn’t much any of us could do to help him, so we kept on. When I got back to our campsite I realized I had a toolbox full of tools, and that I was feeling good, feeling like more. More riding on the Hermosa Creek Trail? The perfect excuse! I loaded up on extra food and water and threw in all wrenches, chain whips and cassette tools I could find. Back out on the trail!

About a half hour in I saw a motorcyclist riding towards me. “We have a bit of a wide load, look out!” It was the motorcyclist who had stayed behind me hours earlier, with Kurt and his bike on the back! It was quite the sight. “Awesome! I had no idea you were going to ride the trail, too!” It didn’t look like much of a trail moto, but here he was, Jim, an older gentleman, saving Kurt a long walk out.

Jim explained that he hadn’t ridden that bike in years and didn’t know if the spedometer worked, which is why he asked me. He then said he was glad I was on the road because it kept him from going too fast. It was a funny day on the trail, and a good one. I thoroughly enjoyed my extra miles on a trail I was growing to love.

I got the chance to ride with Cat Morrison. She took me for a tour of some of the Horse Gulch trails, before we got distracted by little used paths and game trails, taking us to unknown corners of the park, then finally out of the park. The GPS track from this ride is pretty entertaining, with more than a half dozen dead-ends where we turned around for various reasons. We could have easily turned around and retraced our steps back to heavily worn and easy to follow trails. But neither of us wanted to.

At one point we got lost in a maze of oil refineries, where roads were well used, but all paths led to dead-ends. It had a very ‘twilight zone’ feel to it… like someone was playing a trick on us. How could all these heavily used roads go nowhere? Finally we found some cows at one of the dead-ends, and used their singletrack along a canal/ditch to make a b-line to a paved road. Cat then used her finely tuned shortcut sense to take us up some singletrack that was a shortcut and popped us out right where we wanted to be. Awesome. I only got a little nervous out there, knowing we had an appointment to see a house in a few short hours, and not knowing the roads and bailouts that could get us quickly back.

That appointment secured us indoor space, but we still had a few more days of dirtbagging it and enjoying being outside before we could ‘move’ in.

Perhaps my favorite ride of the week of living out of the campground was on singletrack right from camp. Jones Creek leads to the Pinkerton-Flagstaff trail, and it led me to gorgeous meadows of flowers and ripe aspens.

Not real. No way this can be real.

The singletrack was steep and anerobic. My favorite. Click it into granny and give it everything you’ve got.

I had four SPOT devices in my backpack, and but a few short hours to get them to Fedex in Durango so they could be overnight shipped to Flagstaff for a very cool adventure race we were tracking. I was on a mission, of sorts, and had little idea how the trail I had chosen would pan out. I fought my way above 10,000′ (oh yeah!) before reaching the turnoff for the Goulding Trail. It did not look good. Barely used, a faint scratch through a meadow. Tim Lutz had shared the campground with us over Memorial Day and had been epic’d hard by non-existent trails in this area. His experience was on my mind as I coasted through more beautiful meadows. Luckily, in the trees it was well defined. Cat had told me, in passing, that she had hiked it and that there were switchbacks that were tight, which gave me further hope of real trail to be had.

After four or five meadows of blissful trail, I suddenly caught a glimpse of the highway, some 2000′ below, and seemingly only a stones throw away horizontally. “Oh boy. This could turn into quite a deal.” I wondered how much time I had to get to Fedex. A smart business decision might have been to turn tail and descend the much more beaten Pinkerton-Flagstaff trail. But here I was.

And it was brilliant. Super rideable trail, nearly 100% down, and perfectly ‘flowing’ switchbacks. Just tight enough to be challenging, but not enough to feel on edge. A dozen or so downed trees slowed my progress, but the headwind on the long highway ride back to town was much slower. Turns out the Fedex drop is on the far south side of town, and as I passed food after food establishment my bonk grew stronger and stronger. Getting the SPOTs shipped took a while, of course, then I finally limped over to Zia Taqueria for life giving burrito goodness.

Someone simply loves being outside. Though her knee kept her from riding, at least we were camping and, outside. Together.

We enjoyed a last night under the San Juan stars before somewhat reluctantly moving indoors. It sure seems (to me) that humans were ‘meant’ to spend a lot more time, outside. Meant to spent a lot more time, free.

I headed out near sunset to explore the local trails and was filled with Durango stoke. This is an incredible place. We are so lucky to be here!

Trails and cool pines right out the door!

I was so excited that I woke up early, and got out early to ride and see more. Raider Ridge was calling my name, having heard it was technical. I was skeptical based on everything I had thus far seen in Durango. The climb up was benign enough — a thoroughly enjoyable 1000′ singletrack climb with lots of switchbacks. Down the ridge it got a little rocky but I made the mistake of convincing myself I’d probably ride it all on the first go.

It got a tad more technical, and then I was dabbing and retrying sections (one climb took several tries to get, in pieces). This is brilliant! Big bike riding from the door too!

As the trail traverses the ridgeline it’s full of slabs sloping to the left, nearly always at the same angle. Slow speed, there are multiple lines and plenty of places to stuff wheels. I found myself on a dubious line, dropping the front wheel off something that *almost* had me slam on the brakes. The brake hard command was overridden by the logic “you’ve gotten away with a lot worse so far, it’ll be fine.” Then I found my front wheel lodged between two slabs, and found myself on the ground.

It was a hard enough hit that adrenaline was flowing. “Calm down, you’re fine.” I assessed the damage, thought my knee was going to bleed badly (it didn’t), and hopped back on. Over the next twenty minutes I went from thinking I could keep riding all throughout Horse Gulch, as planned, to making a B-line for home, to pedaling one legged as my knee swelled up and became painful.

Play hard, get hurt. So it goes.

a familiar desert sight!

So now we are both temporarily on the sidelines, waiting for knees to heal. Meanwhile, the trails and mountains surrounding us call. LOUDLY. Can’t wait.

June 3rd, 2013 | Category: Mountain Biking | Comments (6)

Going to Moab has always been something of a pilgrimage for me. I grew up in Salt Lake City, where Moab is only four hours away. The first time I rode the slickrock trail, as a teenager, I was hooked. All I could think about was my next Moab trip, and how I could con family or friends into going with me. As the desire to ski resorts faded, and frustration with winter grew, the desire to be in Moab was even stronger. It was paradise. 2 day trips were worth it, even sub-24 hours. Any chance to go play on the rocks, to be bask in the desert sun, I’d take it.

Then I went to Tucson for grad school. Moab was a lot further away, and colder. Plus there was so much to do in southern Arizona. So many trails to ride and discover. Moab faded from the forefront of my mind, because, as my brother said to me, sitting on his bike overlooking Starr Pass, “congratulations, you live in Moab!” Or some would argue, somewhere better than Moab.

But it still has a special place in my MTB heart. I’ve never been epic’d so hard as I have in Moab. Running out of daylight and making wrong turns on Porcupine Rim after the family Station Wagon’s alternator went out, delaying our start. Running out of water before even reaching the base of Jacob’s Ladder, having to descend Amasa Back in the heat of day and with relief only offered by the McDonald’s on the corner of Main and Kane Springs. Losing the trail and my Dad, while trying to navigate Gold Bar Rim before any dots were painted. And on and on. Oh Moab!

I’ve been back a few times over the last 10 years, but primarily it’s been to do ‘silly’ things like ride/race the Kokopelli or Grand Loop. Both of those are amazing in their own way, and have thoroughly epic’d me, but it’s not quite the same. In many ways, Moab taught me how to ride a mountain bike. It has been far too long since I went to Moab with the simple goal of: riding.

The weather on the Front Range was cold and wet. We saw our window, loaded up the sports van, and headed west. Moab here we come!

Or, Fruita first. We had enough time for a couple hour sunset ride, but only if we stopped in Fruita. It was a brilliant plan. Good camping and a new trail for me, one particularly beautiful in the evening light.

girl+sunset love 1

I’ve seen people riding this glorious piece of singletrack from the 2-track of Kokopelli before and wondered why, oh why, was I not on it?

girl+sunset love 2

The golden hour and the sky painting hour seemed to stretch on and on. Just one of those special nights. We only needed lights for the very last bits of trail back to the van. Camping was under the stars, then it was on to Moab!

We used the wonder of Eszter’s smart phone to coordinate meeting up with Mike, Lenore and Petey Spice. Amasa Back was the ride of choice. A favorite of the Morris family, and one I had not ridden in over 10 years.

Lucky for me, I had Mike to show me all the lines. I used to know a few fun ones, but he has a whole repertoire.

photo by Mike Curiak – more here

Some went smoothly.

Others were just at my limit, and resulted in adrenaline flood.

photo by Mike Curiak

Others I fumbled on. Or didn’t even attempt.

Some challenged Mike (he did get the above pictured move, though I am still not quite sure how).

He took us further out on the mesa than I think I’ve been before. And perhaps a little too far for a couple in our group, who lost the sessiony desire after many hours of proceeding 200 feet at a time.

We put some continuous pedaling to work, at last, just as a thin wall of rain gave the rock domes in front of us a shimmering fuzzy coating. The wall would cover us as we rode the new “Captain Ahab” trail back down to the creek. Mike destroyed his wheel and had to walk out. Eszter and I continued on to camp, then met the whole crew, plus Jeny, at Paradox Pizza. I was stoked to finally get to eat at Paradox Pizza!

Fred and Pete organized a shuttle ride on Mag 7, including a very competent and skilled guide. It started out mellow enough, with new singletrack that was fun, but not memorable enough to be Moab classics. Pretty soon we were nearing Gold Bar Rim and finding some good rocks to play on.

Go Petey Spice!

Go Jeny! It was fun to follow our guide (Darcy) who had no little ring and rode everything with LOTS of momentum. Completely different climbing style than mine, so fun to learn from.

I thought of previous epics on Gold Bar, but the memories were distant. I remembered lots of rock, big views, and a few fun moves.

Yeah, there were a few fun moves. I was glad to have Darcy to follow on a several I would have never tried without watching someone first.

And then there was Portal. I remember the exposure, the mandatory dismounts, and some really fun chunk at the end.

But I had no idea it was this good. Jj’s face says it all.

Darcy disappeared. For the brief minute or two I could follow his line I was alarmed at how much speed he was carrying. Wow. Jj and I rode most of it together, and Fred morphed himself into superman, cleaning sections we couldn’t.

Pete rallied for Paradox Pizza again, and I wasn’t one to complain.

Back at our ledgy campsite, we took in an evening walk, watched the sun set and listened to the birds. A beautiful evening.

In the morning we headed out north of Moab to the Sovereign area. Unfortunately we got suckered into the new “Klonzo” trailsystem, which if located anywhere else would be quite fun. But in Moab it just pales by comparison. Once on Sovereign, we realized what a mistake we had made. It’s even better than I remember it.

We set up camp in Rabbit Valley again, on our way back West. I was pretty tired, and content to sit in the camp chair and watch the evening fade. But Eszter is full of good ideas.

“Let’s go ride to the top of that hill and watch the sun set!!”

“OK!!”

girl+sunset love 3

Pixels were killed on memory cards. Magic moments shared.

girl+sunset love 4

Fullness of life embraced.

In the morning there was still time for a quick spin. Fun was had on moto trails replete with flowers.

Moab. Better than I remember. I need to get back just to ride more often. Fruita, too.

May 21st, 2013 | Category: Mountain Biking | Leave a comment

After scratching twice from the AZT and briefly considering a third attempt, my business in Arizona was done. May is still a good month in Tucson, but, it’s on the warm/dry/dusty/pollen side, and the northlands begin to call me. This year more than ever before!

I can’t imagine why…

So I packed up my few belongings, and my lack of furniture paid off big time. Just a couple chill (by moving standards) days and I was out of the lovely house I rented, back into the Sports Van, and out on the road.

A computer, 4 bikes, a few duffles of clothes and camp gear. What else do I really need… for a summer of adventure and love?

I stopped to bivy in the deserts outside Socorro, falling asleep instantly on my air mattress next to the van. Unfortunately someone in a dune buggy of some kind decided to shine bright lights at me for a while, then drove awkwardly off down the road at 4am, putting a dampener on what should have been a good rest.

Salida!

The front range was soaked/snowed in, and Salida saved me a few hours of driving, so I found my lovely girl waiting by the Arkansas river.

“Let’s ride bikes!”

“OK!”

We rode Cottonwood, my now traditional start to a Colorado summer of riding. Eszter first showed me this trail in 2011, some hours after I arrived in the state. All thanks to the Facebrag, and me not containing my excitement at arriving in Colorado for the summer.

It’s such a good ride. Then and now.

It threatened rain, just like in 2011. We broke out jackets and things, and talked about all that has happened in between two Cottonwood rides. I always knew spending time in Colorado would lead to happiness, but did not understand exactly how. I knew that in the short term riding bikes and being in a new and cooler place for the summer leads to good things. Breaking out of the comfort of a single residence, a single city and a single routine is such a refreshing and rejuvenating way to live. But I also had a sense that Colorado would lead to something even bigger, longer term. I just had no idea what, and could not have predicted the awesomeness a summer in Salida, awesome in and of itself, could start.

Sunday was my B-day, and Eszter put together an intangible present of the best kind. A new ride, a new trail, a guide on a loop I’ve been wanting to see for the last two years.

One full of rocks and tricky moves!

Kep showed us all the lines, and made them look easy on his rigid SS. Many of the moves reminded me of the Granite Dells. Nothing big, all on the ground, but requiring lots of slow speed control and, well, skill!

Everyone was riding well, pushing limits to what seemed to be the perfect amount. Just a little out of the comfort zone, but not too much. Find the flow.

It was so good to see Jeny pushing some limits, riding some very hard lines, and cracking out of her skull. Welcome back, Jj!

Not everything’s going to go, for all of us. We’ve got to go back! Get the lines we missed on the first run.

I love how this shot of Eszter’s looks and feels like I’m going to head plant into the rock in front and below me. It was an extra tricky one to pull out of, and captures the overall feeling of the trail so well.

And then, a very tangible and very tasty present! Not that I needed any presents at all. The distance between us is finally closed for good, and I have a Colorado summer of love and life ahead of me. I am very blessed at the start of this year of my life.

May 9th, 2013 | Category: Mountain Biking | Comments (5)