I was going quite stir crazy in the valley to the point
where I was unpleasant to be around. It was raining a lot and I was feeling a
little overworked, wrung out by the groundhog-weekly nature of my job and resentful of the hordes of people who had escaped the valley
for warmer climes.
Worst of all, I was deeply frustrated that I had ordered a bike in October and
it still hadn’t arrived.
I sent in an employee purchase form by
mail to Santa Cruz for the in-hot-demand aluminum Bronson. I never received
confirmation and was never charged for it, but heard from others that that was
the norm for EP and the bike I wanted was out of stock anyway. I waited
contendedly(ish) until midway through February, then started agitating with not
one but three shop managers from two different shops to figure out WTF was
happening. All of a sudden it was April and I didn’t want to pay retail for a
bike but my window of freedom was nearing and I was desperate. And extremely
pissed.
Finally two weeks ago I ordered a bike from Sam but I hadn’t acted quickly
enough (y’know, besides the whole ordering in October thing) and was facing
down a scheduled trip to the desert without the new bike I had been waiting for
the entire winter.
Yeah, frustrating. I had to leave town though, so I said
fuck it and loaded up the Half Chub in the minivan. I couldn’t even bear to
wait until the end of the day Thursday, so with the blessing of my boss, who
was clearly over my angst, we left town at noon. As we drove south the
temperature gauge rose steadily until it came to rest at 70 degrees and I could
feel all my churlishness slough off me.
We did a short ride at Red Fleet State Park right before the
sun set and I tried to remember how to mountain bike. The Krampus is a champ
though. After riding it almost exclusively last fall, I have a deep affection
and respect for its maneuverability and indestructibility. I feel like I’ve
spent a full season working on fundamentals because riding singletrack on the
Krampus means taking absolutely nothing for granted, and I can’t wait to get
back on a light bike with full suspension, a dropper, hubs with less than 25
degrees of engagement, good brakes, and a modern drivetrain.
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| Krampus riding: exaggerated form required |
After a night spent on BLM watching the moon rise over the
umber rock formations of Red Fleet, we rode a bit more in Vernal to wear the
dog out, then headed south again, landing in Grand Junction. It was hot and the
Lunch Loops trailheads were crowded with people and dogs. Jolene kind of hates
other dogs, which adds a lot of stress and strain to a lot of situations.
Feeling at a loss because there was no camping allowed anywhere on the BLM in
Grand Junction, we decided to just start riding.
It was so hard, rock jumble clambering and walking uphill and
downhill in the sun, my wrists aching from the jolts through my steel fork,
frustration with the constant hike-a-bike weaseling into my brain. We finished
and I was certain, again, that I didn’t like the desert. Fortunately I got in touch with Erica and she said a big crowd of Teton Valley’ers had scored a
camping spot in a nearby area, because otherwise we would be SOL. Relieved, we
headed their way.
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| Jolene was stoked on any riding she was allowed to do |
Life got a lot better, although I was kind of annoyed by the
hordes of extremely privileged people with $200,000 Sprinters or campers, the
children on carbon bikes, the roving unleashed dogs that forced us to keep Jo
locked in the van all day. But we drank beer and rode bikes with friends and it
was great. The trails ranged from fine to awesome, weaving through the campsite
and up onto needle ridges, with features and drops that were challenging but
never caused me the consternation that I had experienced the prior day.
 |
| Mountain biking with friends is the best |
 |
| The 18 Road trails were very fun |
But I still don’t love the desert, and we were low on food
and water and we’re both pretty restless people, and I wanted to let the dog
off leash and run away from the crowds, so we bailed. I found an area on the map
that seemed intriguing, and even though I knew the fact that it was at 10,000
feet was a clear warning, we decided to send it anyway. Of course on top of
Grand Mesa the snow was piled higher than the van. We joked that we were
terrible at going to the desert. We parked in an empty XC ski lot with
restrooms and fell asleep to a light snowfall.
 |
| We suck at deserting |
It rained as we dropped back into the canyons of northwestern
Colorado the next morning. Scanning the gold mine that is Trailforks, we found
a little trail network two hours north, in a town where it wasn’t raining at
that exact minute. After a quick van unload and gear up, we went for another
ride and were delighted to find a mellow, twisty ribbon of dirt swooping
through trees, definitely more my scene than bare rock. We ended on a downhill
trail with perfect berms and friendly wood features just as the rain started
again. We putzed our way north again and hunted down a hot spring that was sort
of on-route. Juniper Springs was down a long dirt road, slimy pools with eroded
concrete walls painted in once-bright colors, the water not quite warm enough
to warrant a substantial soak.
 |
| Meeker is magical |
So we left, and decided to just go home because the rain wasn’t
quitting. We weathered I-80 in a storm, crept through a herd of skittish elk in
Hoback Canyon, and made it home as night fell.
It was rejuvenating to feel the sun on my bare arms
and to put rubber to dirt again, although I’m still not convinced I want to go
back to the desert any time soon. Fortunately my bike is arriving this week
(supposedly) and riding areas closer to home are drying out (slowly).
 |
| Earned it |
