Co-Ed Bachelor Party

Squad

In 2019 we started planning for a Canada mountain bike trip this month to celebrate our pending nuptials with Nate and Amanda, Sam and Jordan, and Chrissy, a group of people that could handle basically any ride, conveniently including women that would be happy pedaling all day and guys that were interested in goading each other into hitting gaps and stuff. But COVID happened and closed the border, as well as delaying my and Chrissy's passport renewals, so we cast our eyes elsewhere and came up with Winter Park, Colorado. That was the plan until last Tuesday, when we learned that Jordan, who went down early with Sam, had a major crash and broke bones at Trestle Bike Park. She needed surgery and they wouldn't be able to come along on the trip. 

Suddenly, Cy and I were thinking the same thing: Colorado is hot, Colorado is crowded, why were we planning to go there? He started pacing the kitchen and spouting the benefits of northern Idaho, his beloved old stomping grounds. I was soon convinced, so I called our other group members. Rather than resenting our last-minute change of heart, they were totally game to go northwest instead of southeast. 

Base camp, night one

We departed early on Thursday morning. After finding a campsite outside of Kellogg, we set off for what I'd mistaken for a short afternoon ride nearby. We were all immediately delighted by the dense dark woods and rich creek beds lined with ferns and huckleberries, but less so by the unrelenting climb that continued growing steeper and rockier. (The adjective "unrelenting" was used in the description of the trail, a detail I glossed over.) We finished the slog soaked in sweat, then descended over steep root tangles and scattershot rock piles and through stream crossings. One crossing was studded with the remains of a moose skeleton and Cy claimed a paddle for our bone garden at home.  

Top of a very hard climb

Friday was dedicated to Silver Mountain Bike Park, which quickly proved to be technical, challenging, fun, and humbling. We learned that black diamond trails are accurately rated and that I'm still a bit too skittish for real DH, but it was a great day. Cy and the Careys took extra laps while Chrissy and I drank beers and lounged in the sun, counting our blessings to not have sustained injuries or bike failures on the rough, feature-laden trails.

Silver Mountain was hairy

After sleeping in the Silver parking lot we headed over to Coeur D'Alene for an easy little dog ride, then kept going to Spokane where, Cy promised, there was a rowdy in-town trail system. We rode Beacon Hill despite the devastating (to our delicate mountain bodies) heat and sun, and found some of it absurdly challenging (chunky rock rolls into kitty litter) and some of it quite entertaining, including an impeccable pump track. After a quick splash in the very inviting Spokane River and a brief stop at a dispensary, we headed north into Idaho. The town beach in Sandpoint was wildly crowded so we ate some tacos and drove up to Schweitzer Mountain Resort. Cy's nostalgia grew palpable as we arrived at the ski hill where he held his first season pass and started down the path to becoming the person he is now.

On Sunday, I enjoyed an actual breakfast burrito at an actual coffee shop after a few days of campground granola, then Cy and I took the dog for a short ride. We all regrouped and pedaled a mellow but lovely trail to the Schweitzer summit, where Cy felt all the feelings. We took a rocky, loamy descent back to the base, set a shuttle, and dropped further down the resort road on a purpose-built downhill full of small and large features, ripe with good dirt and giggles. 

You can sense the nostalgia

Although we had planned to spend another night at the resort parking lot because it was easy, the previous night had been marked by strong winds that knocked over camp chairs and filled every crevice with sand, so the Careys lobbied that we descend. Fortuitously, we found a quiet, scenic campsite on the north end of Lake Pend Oreille and enjoyed an evening swim in the choppy but not too cold water.

A lovely evening at Pend Oreille

On Monday morning our paths diverged. The Careys returned to Silver (it was that good) and Chrissy moseyed home, while we had firm plans to go for a run that Cy loved. He truly undersold the experience. After four miles of perfect running trail we summited to massive, breathtaking lake and peak views and visited with some very docile, photogenic mountain goats. Definitely on my top five best runs ever list.

Now we have more photos of us together

Perfect, perfect running

Oh yes, there were goats

Despite obligations looming on Tuesday, we opted to make one last detour on the long drive home, splitting the distance with a Monday night stop at hot springs deep in unknown (to me) territory. Despite being very popular hot springs, we found them nearly empty and devoid of weirdos. An easy night's sleep at the trailhead and a six hour drive home ended one of the best road trips I've ever gone on.

A worthwhile detour

Idaho, it's terrible. Don't come here.

Escapism

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.

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.

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