Rubber Side Down

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This will come as a surprise to some of you, but I’m actually riding base miles this year. Due to back pain and/or my general indifference to road riding, I haven’t trained properly in about three years. So it’s high time I started getting some aerobic fitness happening. And as a result, I have no wacky adventures to report. But I know these boring-but-consistent efforts will pay off when I’m able to actually keep up with my friends on group rides. Crazy idea, I know.

And if the training goes well, I might find myself on some cross-country start lines this summer. I had previously decided it was Super D all the way, but hell, there’s an awful lot of singletrack out there calling my name, so I’m sure things like this will lure me in:

Fun festival atmosphere, great trails, and other cool sports to watch when the racing’s over.

Here’s their website you can go to for this year’s info.

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Sometimes a ride is awesome in every way, but it takes too many words to really explain it. This time, I’ll just let the images speak for themselves.

Big thanks to Stuart for a great time in his hood!

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There’s a trail there….somewhere

Once more, Stuart told work to stick it, and we made a repeat trip to Corrales — this time with a good chunk of daylight to work with.

We hit the super-tight singletrack we’d skipped two nights before because of mud. You can see above that it’s overgrown to the point where you can barely see where to put your wheels.

Right after I took this picture we stopped, and we could hear a suspicious rustling in the underbrush. We stood quietly, craning our necks in the direction of the sound. Finally, a chubby critter waddled out into sight, heading away from us. We peered at its rotund caboose for the three seconds we were able to see it, and we were pretty damn sure it was a porcupine. We tried to find a way closer to it that wouldn’t scare it off, but there was no way through the punji stick hell of the bosque. We figured a porcupine would be the only animal to feel at home in this brambly mess where you are instantly perforated if you go off the trail.

And speaking of punji sticks…one took Stuart down as we were trying to get close to the river to stare at cranes. As he was trying to unclip and get a foot down, his ankle got trapped between the crankarm and a bunch of cut-off, pointy sticks right at the edge of the trail. He toppled over into the brush, slicing open the back of his thigh, tearing through both his jeans and his lycra shorts underneath. It looked pretty freakin’ painful, if I do say so myself. Thank god those punji sticks weren’t smeared in human feces, or he’d really have something to be unhappy about.

Here he is denying the pain.

He shook it off and we headed out to the “racetrack” area, a fast loop that you can do in something like thirteen seconds if you’re Stuart, who has ridden this area over 100 times.

Here he’s doing it really slow so I can ride one-handed behind him. Check out the cheapskate’s helmet cam.

We made another detour out to the river, along a trail that’s underwater in the summer. It was just getting dark, and we watched Vs of geese cruising in to land. If you’re into birds, like Stuart, there’s an awesome waterfowl refuge near Albuquerque. Thousands of sandhill cranes and arctic geese roost there in the winter, and it’s pretty damn cool even if birds aren’t your bag, baby.

After awhile of this, we fired up the lights and kept on rocking. Corrales has just over 20 miles of riding to be had when you go out and back, and we pretty much hit it all. It was much warmer (a balmy 39 degrees), so we were stoked to be able to ride and still maintain feeling in our feet and hands. Stuart’s damn lucky to have this area right near his house. I wish we had something like it.

At any rate, today’s plan is to rest (since I also hit the gym yesterday afternoon, I’m feeling a bit blown). That will have us ready to rock White Mesa on Saturday.

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…that make you really glad you took up the sport. Yeah, you have to wear every piece of clothing you own. Yeah, you have to bust ass out of work to make it happen. But it is so worth it.

Stuart escaped the cube and we made a run for the North Foothills trails. We were genuinely surprised to find the trails covered in snow. Stuart said he’d never ridden them like this before, and he’s lived in the ‘Querq for six years.

Traction was actually pretty decent, in spite of the conditions. We began climbing, hoping to warm up in the low-30-degree temps. We saw a couple of other mountain bikers and a runner or two, but mostly the whole area was peaceful and quiet. All we could hear was the crunch of our tires in the snow and our breath.

It was definitely weird to see cactus just sitting there in the snow. Plus, you can see the tracks of plenty of other people who had the same idea we did.

While watching the yellow light on the Sandia Mountains turn them to their famed watermelon color, we reached a high point.

We stopped to listen to coyotes, howling and yipping as night was approaching. Their voices echoed along the ridges and valleys, then faded away into silence.

We were starting to get pretty cold at this point. No surprise there. It was about 30 degrees and we were rapidly running out of light. It was time to high-tail it down.

I got squirrelly in a couple of corners, but managed to stay relaxed and upright. I could see some bermed turns under the snow and I could imagine what a fun slalom ride this area could be when it was dry.

As we hit the last sections of trail, it was almost dark. Sharp fingers of light shot up from the horizon, and Stuart took the camera to feed his sunset-photo obsession.

Another rad ride in the books. I’m definitely grateful to be here while the weather is so flippin’ cold in Colorado. Rob told me yesterday that while he was sitting at dinner in a restaurant, his feet were as cold as if he’d been out riding. Holy crap, man. That ain’t right.

It explains why this sweet item is on my Christmas list:

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Along the river in Corrales. Just out of sight are a bunch of sandhill cranes.

Day one of my Albuquerque adventure was windy and cold. But since my bike (that I shipped ahead) arrived sooner than expected, I figured I had no excuse not to ride. Besides, Rob was telling me that it was 7 degrees in Colorado, so it seemed especially wimpy to complain.

Stuart and I headed out pretty late, when he got off work, at about 4:30. He’s got enough lights to power a two-wheeled army, so we weren’t afraid of the dark. However, this scenario meant there were no real photos to be had, so you’ll have to just take my word for it that the trails were fun.

We headed to a spot just minutes from his house called Corrales. You drop off a busy road into the bosque, or tree-flanked area surrounding the river, and soon there are fun singletracks to be had. This area is totally flat, but that’s unusual in my neck of the woods, so I was pretty stoked. It would have been do-able on a cyclocross bike, for sure, so my almost-six inches of travel was a bit overkill. Stuart was on his Niner singlespeed hardtail, a perfect bike for this joint.

The trail whips around through dense underbrush, where you can hear critters scurrying about. Stuart once saw a bunch of raccoons in there, and tonight he spotted an owl. I was totally bummed that I missed it. I heard that coyotes are common in there as well.

Once it was fully dark, we were riding in an eerie tunnel of bleached-out branches and weird shadows. You had to keep your eyes peeled for the occasional diagonal root or patch of ice, but mostly it was pretty fast. I dig night riding; it made me wish it was more viable in Colorado. But usually, by the time of year where it’s dark early, the trails are also under snow. Perhaps we’ll get some warmth and dry trails in Jan/Feb, like we sometimes do.

In the end, we put in about 13 miles, freezing our feet solid by the time we got home around 6:30. Today’s ride will take place in the daylight, at the North Foothills area. To keep you entertained in the meantime, check this crazy shit out:

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The Race Across the Sky was inspiring to watch, on many levels. Not only seeing Lance Armstrong and Dave Wiens put in amazing race times, but also watching our friends challenge themselves on a very tough course.

After dragging our sorry asses up from our hotel bed at 5am, Rob and I got on the motorcycle and set up a brief camp near the start, where the race leaves the pavement onto the first dirt section.

Not long after we had the hot drinks going on the camp stove, the riders came through. Wiens stating his intentions:

Finally waking up and getting stoked, Rob and I threw our stuff into the cases and made a beeline for the Powerline. The riders descend it on the way out:

Even though this lead group was together here, it wasn’t going to last. By the time Rob and I got to the base of the Columbine Mine section, Lance had already taken the lead.

At this point, he had 30 seconds on second place, a rider from Fort Lewis College in Durango, and two minutes on Wiens. I began to worry for Dave, since Lance looked really strong. But then again, the guy is just off the Tour de France. What else should we expect?

We hung out there for quite some time, watching for the return trip of the leaders, and spent some time hollering at other people we knew. Here’s my Dirt Coalition teammate, Ryan Amirault.

And before we knew it, Lance was back. He had laid waste to the rest of the field on the steep, above-treeline climb. He had created a gap of ten minutes on Wiens, who had made his way into second place.

From there, we jumped back onto the motorcycle and headed back to the Powerline. I gotta say that following this race on a motorcycle is the best way to do it. We not only passed hordes of slow-moving cars on the highways, but we also drove right to the front of every parking area and found a place to slot the bike in. It was pretty pimp.

We started hiking back up the Powerline again, hoping to see the leaders climb the steepest part, but Lance caught us right after the water crossing:

We hustled up the Powerline after that, but by then, Lance had a monstrous lead. It took about 17 minutes for Wiens to come through.

Lots of people cheered for him, calling out, “YOU are my hero!” (playing on the Lance “hero” theme), and I was pleased to see that he was getting so much support. I had secretly wanted him to beat Lance. Not because I’m anti-Lance at all, but I just liked the idea of the local favorite keeping his streak going. But there was really no chance of keeping up with one of the best cyclists in the world.

Speaking of local favorites, we hung around to watch for our pals.

Ward Baker making an incredible showing in 16th place up the Powerline:

The twins came through somewhere in the 30s or 40s. Tom:

And Tony:

We wanted to see some of the finish, so it was time to hike back down the Powerline and rip into town. We missed Lance, as he was probably already on a plane back to Texas. He finished with a course-record time of 6:28:50, and he rode the last ten miles on a flat tire. I was surprised to read in the paper the next day that he admitted he was terrible at changing flats, so he just put air into it and kept hammering. He also mentioned how he hadn’t ridden more than 20 miles alone in his whole career — no teammates, no support cars — so this was a unique experience.

Later, some news came out that he had recruited other riders to help him, by pacing him through those early sections. I was disgusted to hear that, since mountain biking is supposed to be an individual effort (unless you have actual teammates who decide they want to help you rather than try to win their own race, and that’s not always that common). But it sounds like something Lance would do, so I wasn’t too surprised. It’s not illegal, after all. I bet there were tons of riders who would love to say they towed Lance Armstrong at Leadville.

Speaking of this interesting dynamic, I got thinking that this is the only race where rank amateurs start the race and can ride along right next to someone of Lance’s caliber (for the two seconds they could hang ). You don’t see that in other sports. It’s kind of cool, really. Lance himself was quoted as saying he really enjoyed the return leg of the race, where he rode by all the other folks, who hollered and cheered for him.

The finish that Rob and I liked even better was Ward, who pulled ahead two more spots to come in 14th. It’s an incredible result for a super cool guy.

We hung out at the finish with Ward for a while, soaking in his elation. Even though Rob swore he’d never do Leadville again because it sucked so bad, I know he’s secretly plotting a comeback. I will be adept enough on my own motorcycle by then to be his support crew, so that could be pretty rad. Although I never say never, I don’t imagine I’ll get the urge to do this race. It has no singletrack to speak of, and I’m not keen on that much mileage. But hey, you never know….

Congrats to all the finishers; it looked like a cold, tough day. You can find results here.

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In my book, it’s one of life’s greatest pleasures. No work, no obligations – just ride your bike, eat, hot tub…and then do it all over again the next day.

This particular trip hit Winter Park, Steamboat Springs and Park City in one grand loop of gloriousness. It added up to a lot of singletrack for not a lot of driving, and that’s hard to beat.

We began in Winter Park with a chill ride while we watched friends do the Valley Point to Point cross-country race. The race has a new extension this year for more advanced riders, and it looked like it gave people their money’s worth. Rob and I chose to skip this race in order to save ourselves for the Super D the following day, and it was actually really fun to just ride and experience the trails in WP without being completely redlined and suffering.

The race used a singletrack that used to be one of the “secret trails” of the area: Sunken Bridges. We rode down it with the Sport men, and although there’s nothing secret about it anymore, it’s still nice and narrow. You need to keep your wits about you, as it’s very twisty and rooty, with trees reaching to grab your bars the minute you fall asleep at the wheel. I highly recommend it. And since you can get to it by way of lots of other great singletrack (Chainsaw, Flume, etc.), it makes for a solid weekend ride. Here’s a collection of maps for the area.

The next day we acquitted ourselves quite well in the Super D, an event that never fails to plaster a huge smile on my face. Speaking of riding downhill, Winter Park has put in a substantial effort to improve the lift-serviced trails on the mountain. There are options for riders of every level, with lots of jumps (all roll-able by earthbound riders), a wall ride, and a selection of wooden features. Even intermediate cross-country riders can get a kick out of Free Speech, a great trail with wide, swoopy, suspended wooden sections (which hardcore riders can convert into a double). Not only that, there are plenty more real-deal freeriding options. Here’s all the info you need to have a great day improving your downhill skills.

The next day, we piled all our junk into the car and headed to Steamboat.

We had plans for two rides in Steamboat, and we zeroed in our favorites: Diamond Park to Scott’s Run, and Storm Peak/Mountain View/Wyoming Trail/Spring Creek. We’re always interested in the long, backcountry-style rides, and both of these fit the bill. Well, Scott’s Run isn’t that long, but it’s tucked away in a place that sees very little action, so it feels pretty remote.

We started up Diamond Park on the afternoon we arrived, with dark clouds pushing and shoving overhead. At this point, we’re so used to getting rained on in Steamboat that we hardly even pay attention. We just stuff the rain jackets into our packs and head out. Sure enough, we were maybe 20 minutes into the mellow climb when the thunder began echoing down the valley. We ducked into the trees when the rain started coming down harder, and were immediately set upon by clouds of mosquitoes. We huddled in irritated silence, slapping ourselves.

Just as I thought I was going to start getting pissed off (and it’s really, really hard to upset me when I’m out riding), the sky faucet trickled to a stop. We jumped out of the trees and debated whether it was better to continue or turn back, now that the trail was good and sloppy. Still slapping ourselves, of course.

We were determined to experience Scott’s Run. And since we had adopted a “harden the hell up” attitude home in Boulder, where it had been raining every day, there was definitely no backing down now. We got busy outrunning the mosquitoes, splashing through puddles and waiting for the sun to come out, like we knew it would. We knew it would because we had basically the same experience the previous year.

In the repacking of our stuff, my camera didn’t make it into my riding pack, so these are from last year. But nothing’s changed — it’s still this gorgeous, I promise.

Diamond Park after the rain

By the time we made it to the Scott’s Run turnoff, the sun was shining, and we were totally stoked. We set off down the singletrack, and found that not only was it still single, it was almost virgin. The tread was so narrow and overgrown that it was hard to see in places. We were amazed. Do none of the locals ride this? It’s not like it’s a secret; it’s on the map plain as day.

The trail weaves through aspen stands and contours along open hillsides, offering up enough roots and rocks to keep things interesting. It’s not steep, but rather rolls along until suddenly you’re back at the valley bottom again.

But in true Colorado fashion, there’s a last climb — a short but damn steep little pitch over a final ridgeline. And it’s in the trees, so the mosquitoes will descend upon you immediately (if not sooner) if you stop to rest. If I haven’t already persuaded you to bathe in DEET before riding in the ‘Boat, consider this the final warning. Or if you forget the bug juice, try using that AXE “Phoenix” bodyspray you keep in the car. (”When applied correctly to the pits and chest, will have an exciting effect on women nearby.” — actual text of internet ad.)

The next day, we wanted to hit the big epic ride. After a couple of years of experimentation, we’ve settled on doing it this way: Go to the ski hill and buy a lift ticket. It’s $30, but to us it was worth it, since we had better things to do than climb up the whole ski hill before even getting to Storm Peak. Get off the gondola and settle into the climb up the Peak. It’s a boring access road with gravelly, slushy switchbacks, but it doesn’t take all that long to complete. At the top, savor the views for a few minutes before taking off down Mountain View. This trail’s a blast — everything you want out of high-country singletrack. It descends gradually, with lots of turns to carve, grade reversals to pump, and rocky bits to skim over. And its backdrop of misty peaks and aspen groves isn’t too crappy, either.

Top of Storm Peak with Mountain View Trail in the background

Eventually you’ll make your way to Long Lake, a nice place to stop for a snack since the breeze keeps the bugs away.

Then you can saddle up and head on out to the Wyoming Trail. This piece of the ride is usually great, a fast track with some occasional ups and downs, but it was an interminable slog this time around. Not only were there STILL piles of snow to deal with, there was a ridiculous number of downed trees. We were getting off our bikes and bushwhacking around massive jumbles of logs, branches and underbrush with annoying frequency. At first we were making jokes about the alpine cyclocross course, but eventually the levity trickled to a stop, leaving us silently gritting our teeth at every get-off. I’m not exaggerating when I say we got off our bikes about every 300 feet. The flow of the trail was pretty much ruined. However, it’s the first time we’ve seen this in several rides of this loop, so don’t be discouraged. I’m guessing that the Forest Service was still waiting for the snow to melt before heading in with their chainsaws.

Finally we emerged into a gorgeous, high-alpine meadow. And no joke, in late July, there was still a massive snow field over the center of it. It was dense enough to walk across, thankfully, but at the same time, we were pretty sick of walking. But the ride wasn’t over yet and we had a final nugget to look forward to: the descent down Buffalo Pass Road and the swooping singletrack of Spring Creek. This final bit of trail crosses the creek 15 times, and definitely made everything all right again.

Muddy, tired and rather pleased with ourselves, we cruised back into town and relaxed with a chilly beverage. All in all, a pretty solid day. Steamboat delivers yet again.

And to make it even sweeter, we weren’t going home yet. We had four days in Park City ahead.

(Stay tuned for Part Two)

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All right, friends, halt all other internet activity and watch this. Then proceed directly to Priceline to buy your plane ticket. I’ll see you there.

P.S. Yep, it’s in British Columbia.

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It’s whispering your name seductively….come ride and camp and ride some more….

You can find all the information you need right here. If you aren’t camping and you plan to park at the main trailhead, be sure to bring $5 in cash for the forest service parking fee. The riding is MORE than worth it, I promise.

You will hardly find trails more swoopy, pump-able and fun in all of Colorado. And it’s all singletrack. How can you beat it? Naturally, if you’re looking for technical challenges, this isn’t the place, but if you want a fast, fun time in a gorgeous setting, get your booty down there.

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