A taste of Wilderness

The sun was already touching the highest peak to the west as I hit the dirt road and raced a freight train up a moderate grade. I was amused that I was riding the same speed as a train being pulled by 9 engines was moving, but it turned out that there was no rush since the train was second in line to make the dark trip through the Moffat Tunnel. The train screeched to a halt as I pedaled on, soon turning off onto a much steeper road.


Dusk came and went as I labored steadily upward. The bright aspen stands turned grey before settling on a darker shade for the remainder of the night. Stands of spruce stood stubbornly along the trail despite increasingly strong gusts of wind coming down the flanks of the mountains into which I was climbing. But the high peaks became simply dark outlines as stars gradually surrounded them.


The critters that skitter and dart about are often unique to the dark hours. The smells are richer and Earthier. The sounds are far more pronounced and striking. And one's place in the world seems just a bit more uncertain. But foremost, I believe, is that first glimpse of a new landscape when dawn finally arrives. Traveling by night rarely allows the traveler to discern anything more than the shape of the passing country; subtle details beyond the reach of the torch are neither seen nor appreciated. But as the sun prepares to rise again, a thick, diffuse light spreads from the east, revealing to the traveler all that was hidden while the sun sped around the back side of the globe.


The climbing continued as I pondered why I have grown such a fondness for riding in the dark. Finally, as my lungs finally began to signal that there was no longer quite as much oxygen as they should like to have, the rocky trail tilted downward. I dropped my saddle and rattled down the rocky hillside before veering off onto the tundra and dismounting. The sticker on a Carsonite post in front of me glinted in my headlamp. "Wilderness Area," it read.

In most instances of finding myself face to face with similar signs while sitting on a bike, I've grumpily turned around to find more friendly places to travel. Some USFS ranger districts are apparently quite strict about allowing bikes to even be carried while hiking through Wilderness, but our local district has been accommodating and has even approved one local race in which competitors are required to carry their bikes through 3 miles of Wilderness. On this night, the plan was to continue into the heart of this little Wilderness, bike strapped to my back. Owen and I had tried this route once last year and were turned back by the first real snow of the year. Earlier this year, I tried again, but my legs didn't have it in them that day, and storms were building rapidly as the strong summer sun fueled convection overhead. This time, my legs were feeling fresh and there wasn't a cloud in the sky, just a dark summit looming a thousand feet above.


The climb soon turned rocky as I crossed stone garlands and then continuous talus slopes. I probably should have taken the trail around the south side of the mountain, but as always, the direct route seemed like the best idea ahead of time. After a few quick breaks to rest my back, I crested the final false summit, hit the trail, and climbed the final few switchbacks to the summit. The wind howled through my handlebars and steerer tube as I leaned the bike against a stone shelter that had been built at the high point. "EEP!" shouted a nearby pika. That little guy would wake me up every hour or two all through the night with a single exclamation each time.


The view of the Boulder and Denver lights to the east were impressive, and a few little clusters of lights below the other side of the Front Range marked Winter Park, Fraser, and Granby. I heated up some dinner, put on all my clothes, and nestled in among some rocks to try to get out of the wind. But sharp gusts still found me, blowing around my bivy and making it challenging to sleep at times.


The soft orange glow of an approaching dawn seemingly awoke me just in time to enjoy the sunrise. It had been quite some time since I had the pleasure of watching the Sun appear from such a high vantage point. I tried to make some hot chocolate, but my little fuel canister only had enough left to thaw the little ice crystals in the water, so I sipped cold chocolate and snapped some photos of the mountains as they basked in first orange, then pink, followed by yellow.



The plan for the morning was to hike down the north side of the mountain, pick up some alpine singletrack beyond the Wilderness Boundary, head over to Rollins Pass, and get to work before lunch. As expected, a steep hike brought me to a saddle and the exciting sign that marked the edge of the non-bike-friendly territory. I hopped back on and sailed through some of the most beautiful singletrack I've ridden in some time.



I ended up dropping into Winter Park instead of heading directly to Rollins Pass. The aspens treated me to quite a show, a porcupine waddled out of my path in the middle of the long descent, and I just kept grinning. What a morning. What a route.


Eventually, I climbed back up, stopping to chat with a guy heading the opposite direction on a heavily loaded bike. He was headed off on a 3-4 month tour with no particular destination in mind. "Perhaps Arizona," he said, "Or maybe I'll follow the Arkansas and head down to the Gulf." It sounded like this wasn't his first time on such a journey. Or his second. Or fifth.


It wasn't until almost 3 o'clock that I rolled into work. I suppose that wasn't quite a quick overnighter, but it certainly was one of the most breathtaking loops I've ridden in the Front Range. With so many of our trails off limits to bikes in Wilderness Areas or National Parks, options are a bit limited. I offer my gratitude to all the folks in Grand County that fought for the creation of this "Special Interest Area" as an alternative to making it all Wilderness.


While those off us on the east side of the Divide lost bikeable territory to the James Peak Wilderness, Grand County residents fought to not lose bike and snowmobile access since their economy benefits greatly from it. A compromise was reached, and the Special Interest Area was created. I hope that such a compromise will not go unnoticed as proposals for new Wilderness Areas across the country are considered as long as the Wilderness Act remains unchanged and inflexible.

Aspenglow

A weekend of beautiful fall weather pulled me out of my dissertation-writing-trance and up into the hills to a playground of singletrack.

There were crowds of leaf peepers clogging up the nearby highway trying to take photos of this distant stand of aspens...

We left them behind, bumped down some old trails, and found ourselves basking in the golden glow beneath the trembling canopy. The leaf peepers didn't know what they were missing out on.

Play time in the rocks

Even the small leaves are creating their own vibrant glow

This new squishy bike is pretty fun

Stefan taking in the views on our first ride together in far too long. He's been running too much this summer. What's with these strange running compulsions?

Failure followed by failure followed by failure. Nuts.

So this is what a chain in the process of exploding looks like?

Autumn

The first crisp days of autumn have arrived here in Colorado. The days are getting shorter at an alarming rate, and the sunsets are coming earlier and earlier with each passing day.

The evening view from my favorite local trails

While skittering down steep trails, flashes of yellow shout out from the scattered aspens within the pine forests above town. Afternoon thunderstorms are becoming less frequent, but now long sleeves are usually needed during my morning commute. But most troubling was the appearance of fresh snow on the high peaks last week. Winter is no longer months away.

Taking advantage of every last minute of twilight

Get out and enjoy the ever-shortening days!

Horsethievery

A few weeks ago, a new toy arrived in the mail from Salsa. 5" of cushy travel for downhill ripping. A moderately long wheelbase for incredible stability. A moderately steep geometry for surprisingly good needle threading capabilities. I'm still waiting for the proper fork, so the build isn't quite what it should be yet, but who wants to have a new frame just sitting around for weeks on end, begging to be built? I sure didn't.

At the local proving grounds under a splendid late afternoon sun.

New bike, new views.

Dan is selling his Yeti. He wants more travel. And he should put his chain on before beginning this descent.

2200' up, steep enough to make the leg burn. Then 2200' back down, steep enough to make me grin. I ran into the trail's creator on his way down, and he had recently raked the upper part of the track, so it was in prime shape.

No action shots yet...this bike is too much fun to want to stop and pull out the camera!

Alpine endeavors II

Last year after I ran my second 50-mile trail race, my desire to run completely vaporized. I had been running to hopefully help a couple knee problems caused by being purely a cyclist, and then I had created other problems by deciding to see what it was like to run an ultra, as opposed to riding one. The running also payed huge dividends racing the Arizona Trail, with that annoying canyon near the northern terminus. But once I finished a tough race in the San Juan Mountains that was my primary goal for the year, I had had quite enough suffering on my feet.

More than a year later, I've finally started to have urges to run again, and I've managed to get out on a few short runs to try to get my running muscles to remember what they had become relatively comfortable with. But sadly, that muscle memory just isn't there.

Anyway, I wanted to get back above treeline and take in some vistas this weekend, so it was off to Breckenridge for the Breck Crest Marathon. This race uses a rather, uh, challenging course, climbing steadily and steeply from the start, high up into the Tenmile Range, over Wheeler Pass, and then it traverses the ridge crest at well over 12,000' before eventually plunging down the Colorado Trail back into the Blue River Valley.

A few of the leaders nearing Wheeler Pass

It was a beautiful morning for a running race, and the frost on the ground was the first I had seen since Spring. The climb up toward Wheeler burned my legs, and I struggled to simply find traction up the loose trail surface. The fastest runners passed me while I was stopped at the second aid station, trying to catch my breath. I cheered for them and then continued on.

The guy in front of me was particularly chatty. And he didn't seem to be breathing very hard. Apparently he was also a mountain biker, and he said that he was sure glad he wasn't trying to ride on this trail like I was. Oh yeah, I guess I didn't mention that I was on my bike. Caroline was running somewhere in the pack lower down on the mountain; I just came along for the ride, and the running course happened to use some of the same trails I had planned to ride. I was amused to find that my pace on this terrain was the same as the runners until the trail tilted downward. And I sure was glad that I wasn't running!

High in the Tenmile Range, back on the Colorado Trail

After another hour or so of tundra riding with endless views and a big blue sky above, we finally hit the high point of the Colorado Trail in this area and began to descend. The runners I had been near hopped aside to let me finally pass, commented how they'd much rather run down this trail then attempt to ride it (it's a spectacular descent on a bike in my opinion), I wished them luck in their race, and skittered down the loose track, grinning until I crashed. I righted my bike, hopped back on, and was grinning again before my feet even found my pedals.

That CT descent is an absolute blast. I see why it destroys most CT racers heading in the opposite direction! By the time I finally reached the river, I realized that only a few hours had passed, so I still had a little while before Caroline expected to be finishing. With no shortage of routes to reach the sky in the area, I headed east and soon found myself climbing Georgia Pass. But the climb took longer than I anticipated, and an internal debate began as to whether I should turn around and head back to town or climb to the pass so I could ride the rocky CT descent down instead. The CT option won out.

A glimpse of South Park off in the distance

Out of water and overdue, I pushed hard back into town, bought all the tasty beverages I could carry at a gas station en route, and got back to the car to find Caroline all ready to ride, despite finishing her race faster than her goal. Hmm. I don't think she races hard enough. I needed a bit of time to recover, but soon we were rolling up into the mountains again.

The Sallie Barber Mine

No storms anywhere in sight and cool air really made it feel like fall has finally arrived. Now if only I could find someone to finish writing my dissertation for me so I can spend more days in the mountains...