So you wanna do the Cataract Ridge ride next summer? It'll kinda be like that Guanella ride only... more... at 12-13K feet.This is why we can't have nice threads.
So since pigboy decided to raise a fambly...
- Thread starter johnbryanpeters
- Start date
Sure. I'll bring beer.So you wanna do the Cataract Ridge ride next summer? It'll kinda be like that Guanella ride only... more... at 12-13K feet.
Again?
You must have 9 lives, Pvssy!
.....
Story coming...
You fuvckin' worthless old tease.
pesqueeb recommended riding the Kokopelli Trail from Fruita, Colorado to Moab, Utah with support from Bikerpelli Sports in Boulder.
I posted a link to Bikerpellis site on Facebook, and my riding buddy V. responded positively within hours damn here I am entertaining a remote idea and someones serious already. Taking a deep breath, I signed up on January 18th, invoking some spousal opprobrium, which is standard when I make this sort of commitment.
Now began the problem of getting in some sort of shape for a hundred and whatever miles of pedaling in the desert and on mesas. I did some running ouch. I did a bunch of what were typically eight mile rides with maybe 1,700 feet of climbing, starting in snow, progressing to glare ice and eventually something like dry trails, maybe twice a week. For a special diet, I bacon loaded.
As spring rambled in, V. set up a motel room (the Comfort Inn in Fruita), highly recommended), I nailed down airline reservations and bike shipment through bikeflights.com (again, highly recommended), made a gear list, started paying attention to bike maintenance and finally mounted a pair of tubeless tires. I thought about chain/cluster/middle ring replacement but decided against.
Two weeks prior to departure, my no changes on the bike rule kicked in. A week later the bike, riding gear and tools shipped and I started to turn into a wreck trying to get tent, sleeping bag, ground pad, clothing and miscellaneous wedged into a Vietnam era duffel bag, worrying about the bike, whether I was up to the trip, imagined health issues, whatever There was a last minute flurry of emails with V., shopping on May Day, and on the second a workmate drove me to the airport and I found myself on a plane at six in the morning, Burlington, Vermont to Chicago, Illinois to Grand Junction, Colorado.
I posted a link to Bikerpellis site on Facebook, and my riding buddy V. responded positively within hours damn here I am entertaining a remote idea and someones serious already. Taking a deep breath, I signed up on January 18th, invoking some spousal opprobrium, which is standard when I make this sort of commitment.
Now began the problem of getting in some sort of shape for a hundred and whatever miles of pedaling in the desert and on mesas. I did some running ouch. I did a bunch of what were typically eight mile rides with maybe 1,700 feet of climbing, starting in snow, progressing to glare ice and eventually something like dry trails, maybe twice a week. For a special diet, I bacon loaded.
As spring rambled in, V. set up a motel room (the Comfort Inn in Fruita), highly recommended), I nailed down airline reservations and bike shipment through bikeflights.com (again, highly recommended), made a gear list, started paying attention to bike maintenance and finally mounted a pair of tubeless tires. I thought about chain/cluster/middle ring replacement but decided against.
Two weeks prior to departure, my no changes on the bike rule kicked in. A week later the bike, riding gear and tools shipped and I started to turn into a wreck trying to get tent, sleeping bag, ground pad, clothing and miscellaneous wedged into a Vietnam era duffel bag, worrying about the bike, whether I was up to the trip, imagined health issues, whatever There was a last minute flurry of emails with V., shopping on May Day, and on the second a workmate drove me to the airport and I found myself on a plane at six in the morning, Burlington, Vermont to Chicago, Illinois to Grand Junction, Colorado.
Getting to Colorado
Airline flights are airline flights they suck. To make the experience better, I managed to worry myself into a snit the bike would be damaged, my luggage would be lost I imagined every possible screw-up or failure. While waiting for planes, I watched the baggage handlers, which was not an encouragement.
V. and I were texting back and forth from intermediate stops she was due to arrive an hour before me. We landed at Grand Junction sometime about 12:30 PM and I had a message that she had waited and called a cab. My duffel bag actually appeared and I met up with V. We went outside and waited for the cab. And waited for the cab. One showed up. It was for another group of bikers. We started talking to another cab seeker, Nina (?), an airline stewardess from Alaska who was down to visit an old school friend to go hiking. We invited Nina to share the cab, got her to her destination in Grand Junction and made our way to Fruita the detour probably cost an hour, but what the hey.
We checked in at the hotel, making bike assembly our first priority. Nothing was damaged, nothing was missing, we had all our gear. We walked downtown and had supper at Suds Brothers in Fruita. The beer was good, the green chile soup was good, but our entrees were meh. Stop in for a beer and soup if youre in town. We returned to the hotel, set up our riding kits and gear, packed remainder in the bike boxes, and took them downstairs to be stored for our return on Sunday, then sacked out I sort of slept.
Airline flights are airline flights they suck. To make the experience better, I managed to worry myself into a snit the bike would be damaged, my luggage would be lost I imagined every possible screw-up or failure. While waiting for planes, I watched the baggage handlers, which was not an encouragement.
V. and I were texting back and forth from intermediate stops she was due to arrive an hour before me. We landed at Grand Junction sometime about 12:30 PM and I had a message that she had waited and called a cab. My duffel bag actually appeared and I met up with V. We went outside and waited for the cab. And waited for the cab. One showed up. It was for another group of bikers. We started talking to another cab seeker, Nina (?), an airline stewardess from Alaska who was down to visit an old school friend to go hiking. We invited Nina to share the cab, got her to her destination in Grand Junction and made our way to Fruita the detour probably cost an hour, but what the hey.
We checked in at the hotel, making bike assembly our first priority. Nothing was damaged, nothing was missing, we had all our gear. We walked downtown and had supper at Suds Brothers in Fruita. The beer was good, the green chile soup was good, but our entrees were meh. Stop in for a beer and soup if youre in town. We returned to the hotel, set up our riding kits and gear, packed remainder in the bike boxes, and took them downstairs to be stored for our return on Sunday, then sacked out I sort of slept.
Day one, first half
The Comfort Inn puts on a good breakfast. We stoked up on eggs and bacon and coffee and fruit, then staged our gear outside. Each rider was allowed their bike and whatever they carried riding, a sag bag for stuff you might want at lunch, a duffel bag and a camp chair. We bagged the camp chair another piece of crap to keep track of.
Smack on time at 8:15, a big yellow Ryder truck arrived. We listened to a briefing, loaded the bikes and gear into the truck, and boarded a shuttle van and headed to the Mack Ridge trailhead off Interstate 70.
The Bikerpelli crew were managing a group of what turned out to be about 85 riders with a crew of seven, and it was made clear at the initial briefing that personal responsibility and mutual aide needed to be themes for the trip. When we got to the trailhead we all pitched in to unload bikes and riding gear, met up with other riders who were parked at the trailhead, and listened to a briefing specific to the days first ride.
We set out in four waves of about twenty riders, going north on Hawkeye Road to the Lions Loop trailhead. V. and I went out at the tail of the last wave. I started to recognize the desert a flowering cactus, prairie dogs, and other cues settled me in quickly. We got to the trailhead and headed uphill and east on Lions.
The first day had been described as increasingly technical, and as an east coast rider I had no idea what that might mean on desert trails. What it came to mean on the first day was riding up or down on modest ledge drops and chutes, steep climbs with or without obstacles, and occasional exposure. I dont know if deep sand counts, but it was there at times. I really dont remember much in way of detail on the Lions stretch of singletrack, except that it skirted some canyon rims and was quite beautiful I was too busy enjoying the ride to retain much.
In the desert it does not pay to get lost, and if one gets lost, it pays to be able to figure ones way out. V. and I were to practice both. We were intended to take a left from Lions to the western leg of Troy Built. Instead, we went northeast and uphill on Troy Built, passing the Mack Ridge trail and descending the other side all the way back to the interstate not too far from where we had started. We reoriented with some discussion and continued, climbing to the southwest on Troy Built and meeting a whole group, not on our crew, who thought they were headed to Moab, having missed the turn to the Salt River bridge. More discussion ensued and all headed up to the bridge turnoff, where we met part of our group.
The descent to the Salt River quickly gets to a chute in my hell, no category, so I walked that and rode the rest. The bike carry back out on the other side is painful to start with and my legs decided to join in with some mild cramping in the quads, which would become more interesting as the day continued.
About ten miles later, in the latter half of which V. kept getting way ahead of me and I kept hallucinating that boulders and whatnot were the truck with lunch, I actually sighted it and wolfed down Cytomax, bananas, watermelon, and almond butter and honey sandwiches.
The Comfort Inn puts on a good breakfast. We stoked up on eggs and bacon and coffee and fruit, then staged our gear outside. Each rider was allowed their bike and whatever they carried riding, a sag bag for stuff you might want at lunch, a duffel bag and a camp chair. We bagged the camp chair another piece of crap to keep track of.
Smack on time at 8:15, a big yellow Ryder truck arrived. We listened to a briefing, loaded the bikes and gear into the truck, and boarded a shuttle van and headed to the Mack Ridge trailhead off Interstate 70.
The Bikerpelli crew were managing a group of what turned out to be about 85 riders with a crew of seven, and it was made clear at the initial briefing that personal responsibility and mutual aide needed to be themes for the trip. When we got to the trailhead we all pitched in to unload bikes and riding gear, met up with other riders who were parked at the trailhead, and listened to a briefing specific to the days first ride.
We set out in four waves of about twenty riders, going north on Hawkeye Road to the Lions Loop trailhead. V. and I went out at the tail of the last wave. I started to recognize the desert a flowering cactus, prairie dogs, and other cues settled me in quickly. We got to the trailhead and headed uphill and east on Lions.
The first day had been described as increasingly technical, and as an east coast rider I had no idea what that might mean on desert trails. What it came to mean on the first day was riding up or down on modest ledge drops and chutes, steep climbs with or without obstacles, and occasional exposure. I dont know if deep sand counts, but it was there at times. I really dont remember much in way of detail on the Lions stretch of singletrack, except that it skirted some canyon rims and was quite beautiful I was too busy enjoying the ride to retain much.
In the desert it does not pay to get lost, and if one gets lost, it pays to be able to figure ones way out. V. and I were to practice both. We were intended to take a left from Lions to the western leg of Troy Built. Instead, we went northeast and uphill on Troy Built, passing the Mack Ridge trail and descending the other side all the way back to the interstate not too far from where we had started. We reoriented with some discussion and continued, climbing to the southwest on Troy Built and meeting a whole group, not on our crew, who thought they were headed to Moab, having missed the turn to the Salt River bridge. More discussion ensued and all headed up to the bridge turnoff, where we met part of our group.
The descent to the Salt River quickly gets to a chute in my hell, no category, so I walked that and rode the rest. The bike carry back out on the other side is painful to start with and my legs decided to join in with some mild cramping in the quads, which would become more interesting as the day continued.
About ten miles later, in the latter half of which V. kept getting way ahead of me and I kept hallucinating that boulders and whatnot were the truck with lunch, I actually sighted it and wolfed down Cytomax, bananas, watermelon, and almond butter and honey sandwiches.
MOAR STORY, Old Man! 
MOAR STORY, Old Man!
Day one, second half, Rabbit Valley trailhead to Westwater/Bitter Creek campground
A doubletrack descent from the trailhead into the Rabbit Valley, taking the frirst two legs of parallel route 2, was easier than the stretch of climbing prior to lunch. Castle Rocks provided some stone eye candy. We started to get a noticeable headwind, which would be a theme for about two days.
I was moving along but getting intermittently hit by leg cramps did some stretching, drank water, consumed electrolytes. We had earlier considered taking the Western Rim Trail, but with leg cramps, fatigue and the headwind decided not (and Im not sure we really decided which intersection it was).
Eventually we got to the Bitter Creek crossing and the climb out of the valley, which was nasty. Halfway up were two of our crew, one of whom had doped himself up with electrolytes to the point that he was neither rational nor able to move we determined that no immediate assistance could be provided and continued up. V. disappeared ahead of me as a Subaru sedan (!) driven by the ride leader Alex descended to pick up the down rider and his bike.
I got to the top where a) my partner was gone and b) the road split with no useful signage. After casting about, I came to yet another three corners and was standing there befuddled when one of our crew came along and directed me to the Westwater/Bitter Creek camp. I checked in but no V. (this is a theme and an omen). I ate some and drank some and got nervous until eventually she rode in, having inadvertently taken a detour to the Bitter Creek outlook. The map is obvious to me as I look at it now it was not when I was on the trail.
We set up the tent fighting perhaps a forty mile an hour wind, took pictures, ate supper with enthusiasm, and sacked out, but I had trouble sleeping, having some cramps and arm pain.
Per my GPS, we had racked 37.8 miles and 4,161 feet of climbing.
A doubletrack descent from the trailhead into the Rabbit Valley, taking the frirst two legs of parallel route 2, was easier than the stretch of climbing prior to lunch. Castle Rocks provided some stone eye candy. We started to get a noticeable headwind, which would be a theme for about two days.
I was moving along but getting intermittently hit by leg cramps did some stretching, drank water, consumed electrolytes. We had earlier considered taking the Western Rim Trail, but with leg cramps, fatigue and the headwind decided not (and Im not sure we really decided which intersection it was).
Eventually we got to the Bitter Creek crossing and the climb out of the valley, which was nasty. Halfway up were two of our crew, one of whom had doped himself up with electrolytes to the point that he was neither rational nor able to move we determined that no immediate assistance could be provided and continued up. V. disappeared ahead of me as a Subaru sedan (!) driven by the ride leader Alex descended to pick up the down rider and his bike.
I got to the top where a) my partner was gone and b) the road split with no useful signage. After casting about, I came to yet another three corners and was standing there befuddled when one of our crew came along and directed me to the Westwater/Bitter Creek camp. I checked in but no V. (this is a theme and an omen). I ate some and drank some and got nervous until eventually she rode in, having inadvertently taken a detour to the Bitter Creek outlook. The map is obvious to me as I look at it now it was not when I was on the trail.
We set up the tent fighting perhaps a forty mile an hour wind, took pictures, ate supper with enthusiasm, and sacked out, but I had trouble sleeping, having some cramps and arm pain.
Per my GPS, we had racked 37.8 miles and 4,161 feet of climbing.
Day two, first half, Westwater/Bitter Creek campground to Dewey Bridge the Cisco Desert haul
The sun rises, its beautiful, I have not slept, we do the necessaries, bathroom, strike camp, eat breakfast with enthusiasm, don gear and set out. The wind is still there. The starts a ledgy downhill on a gravel road to the paved Westwater Road and southerly downhill passing under a railroad trestle then right onto Kokopellis Trail heading west. Were riding with a group of maybe six or eight, mostly women, with V and Debbie and I initially riding together.
Lets take a minute for review. We have established themes. Getting lost. Headwind. Confusion with maps. Let us note that the excellent Latitude 40° Fruita Grand Junction map does not, in its larger section, depict Kokopellis trail beyond its first intersection with Mels loop; rather, the section is depicted on the obverse side of the map on an inset. Let us also note that this is a big-assed map, questionably manageable in a wind and that we have two riders unfamiliar with the area. Enough foreshadowing?
V and I fall behind while Debbie stays with the vanguard. 7.4 miles after the trestle we reach a fork in the road with a sign. The women have gone right following the railroad tracks and are just going out of view. The sign seems to say go left. There seem to be more bicycle tracks to the left than to the right. We go left. We blithely continue into the headwind and the sand and we dont know it but the temperature is pushing into the upper nineties. Did I say sand? Yeah, I think I did. We nick the Colorado River and manage to intersect with the trail just short of Cisco Landing.
We continue the slog and ask a group for directions along a short paved stretch of Pump House Road heading to Fish Ford turnoff. We still are completely disoriented, no idea where in hell we are. V is leading and Im drafting her with desperation (we are actually enjoying this we stop to drink, to take pictures, to pee were getting roasted and we dont know it. We do some more climbing and then some nice rocky downhill to the river. We ride along the river and get beaten by willow branches, at least one of which is big enough that it gives passing riders a solid smack in the head. Theres a where-the-hell-did-the-trail-go hike-a-bike, but its short we briefly join some other stragglers on our crew to hand the bikes up. We get to flats and a ranch past the river. We climb out. Im done, still hanging on to V but shes riding stronger shes the tug, Im the barge. Finally we intersect with 128 south, a paved road. Its five miles to lunch at Dewey Bridge, downhill on a paved road. The damned headwind continues. We are not considering the Yellowjacket canyon loop. V is pulling ahead. Three miles to go. This is downhill and I can barely move. V is stopped someplace ahead. A pickup comes the other way and slows a head pops out, its Brenda, the nurse on staff. Hang on a minute, I want to talk to you. I stop, dazed. She turns around, comes back, asks if I need water. I dont think so, but I check Im out. She pours some in my pack bladder and asks if I want a ride. I thank her and opt to continue. Three damn long miles of blacktop in the sun and wind and the remains of the bridge swing into view. I made it to lunch, but Im done.
The sun rises, its beautiful, I have not slept, we do the necessaries, bathroom, strike camp, eat breakfast with enthusiasm, don gear and set out. The wind is still there. The starts a ledgy downhill on a gravel road to the paved Westwater Road and southerly downhill passing under a railroad trestle then right onto Kokopellis Trail heading west. Were riding with a group of maybe six or eight, mostly women, with V and Debbie and I initially riding together.
Lets take a minute for review. We have established themes. Getting lost. Headwind. Confusion with maps. Let us note that the excellent Latitude 40° Fruita Grand Junction map does not, in its larger section, depict Kokopellis trail beyond its first intersection with Mels loop; rather, the section is depicted on the obverse side of the map on an inset. Let us also note that this is a big-assed map, questionably manageable in a wind and that we have two riders unfamiliar with the area. Enough foreshadowing?
V and I fall behind while Debbie stays with the vanguard. 7.4 miles after the trestle we reach a fork in the road with a sign. The women have gone right following the railroad tracks and are just going out of view. The sign seems to say go left. There seem to be more bicycle tracks to the left than to the right. We go left. We blithely continue into the headwind and the sand and we dont know it but the temperature is pushing into the upper nineties. Did I say sand? Yeah, I think I did. We nick the Colorado River and manage to intersect with the trail just short of Cisco Landing.
We continue the slog and ask a group for directions along a short paved stretch of Pump House Road heading to Fish Ford turnoff. We still are completely disoriented, no idea where in hell we are. V is leading and Im drafting her with desperation (we are actually enjoying this we stop to drink, to take pictures, to pee were getting roasted and we dont know it. We do some more climbing and then some nice rocky downhill to the river. We ride along the river and get beaten by willow branches, at least one of which is big enough that it gives passing riders a solid smack in the head. Theres a where-the-hell-did-the-trail-go hike-a-bike, but its short we briefly join some other stragglers on our crew to hand the bikes up. We get to flats and a ranch past the river. We climb out. Im done, still hanging on to V but shes riding stronger shes the tug, Im the barge. Finally we intersect with 128 south, a paved road. Its five miles to lunch at Dewey Bridge, downhill on a paved road. The damned headwind continues. We are not considering the Yellowjacket canyon loop. V is pulling ahead. Three miles to go. This is downhill and I can barely move. V is stopped someplace ahead. A pickup comes the other way and slows a head pops out, its Brenda, the nurse on staff. Hang on a minute, I want to talk to you. I stop, dazed. She turns around, comes back, asks if I need water. I dont think so, but I check Im out. She pours some in my pack bladder and asks if I want a ride. I thank her and opt to continue. Three damn long miles of blacktop in the sun and wind and the remains of the bridge swing into view. I made it to lunch, but Im done.
But did you go to Everest?
Day two, V’s second half, Dewey Bridge to Fisher Valley
I eat and drink, and V joins the last group doing the afternoon ride – I ask her to buddy up with someone and stick with them – somebody suggests a guy with a red and yellow jersey. They depart across the Colorado and upstream. I help to pack up the truck and get shuttled up Onion Creek Road, curve after blind curve and ford after ford. Somehow the crew manages to maneuver the two big trucks up this road – I have no idea how.
We arrive in the Fisher Valley. The sun’s strong, but we’re shielded from the wind. I don’t feel like doing anything, but I choose a tent site, stomp down the cow prints, haul the duffel bags over, pitch the tent and unpack our gear. Considering the morning’s ride, I am concerned about my partner’s well-being.
Riders are straggling in. I plant myself in a chair looking for incoming riders. The sun gets lower. I occasionally get something to eat or drink, but my eyes are on that northeast corner of the valley, scanning for moving helmets. They are getting fewer, the sun’s lower, then gone, the almost full moon comes up, and we’re waiting for seven riders. Then it’s dark and we’re waiting for two, V and Debbie. The last two in saw them, but expressed concern. I’m frantic. I want to yell at the crew, ask them what they’re doing. I hunker down, keep my mouth shut and keep scanning. Alex and Brenda walk down towards the trail, barely visible as it darkens.
Finally, there are two lights, moving fast. They stop and go out about where I’d imagine Brenda and Alex are. I’m going nuts internally. They light up again and come in. It’s the stragglers. I give V, and then Debbie a hug. People bring them plates of food. They were actually doing well on the ride, keeping a steady pace, enjoying the moonlight and the bats and the desert.
Everything winds down, we head for the tent, and I’m out like a light. Alex told me later that I spent two and a half hours nailed to the chair like a dog tied to a street post looking for its owner.
I eat and drink, and V joins the last group doing the afternoon ride – I ask her to buddy up with someone and stick with them – somebody suggests a guy with a red and yellow jersey. They depart across the Colorado and upstream. I help to pack up the truck and get shuttled up Onion Creek Road, curve after blind curve and ford after ford. Somehow the crew manages to maneuver the two big trucks up this road – I have no idea how.
We arrive in the Fisher Valley. The sun’s strong, but we’re shielded from the wind. I don’t feel like doing anything, but I choose a tent site, stomp down the cow prints, haul the duffel bags over, pitch the tent and unpack our gear. Considering the morning’s ride, I am concerned about my partner’s well-being.
Riders are straggling in. I plant myself in a chair looking for incoming riders. The sun gets lower. I occasionally get something to eat or drink, but my eyes are on that northeast corner of the valley, scanning for moving helmets. They are getting fewer, the sun’s lower, then gone, the almost full moon comes up, and we’re waiting for seven riders. Then it’s dark and we’re waiting for two, V and Debbie. The last two in saw them, but expressed concern. I’m frantic. I want to yell at the crew, ask them what they’re doing. I hunker down, keep my mouth shut and keep scanning. Alex and Brenda walk down towards the trail, barely visible as it darkens.
Finally, there are two lights, moving fast. They stop and go out about where I’d imagine Brenda and Alex are. I’m going nuts internally. They light up again and come in. It’s the stragglers. I give V, and then Debbie a hug. People bring them plates of food. They were actually doing well on the ride, keeping a steady pace, enjoying the moonlight and the bats and the desert.
Everything winds down, we head for the tent, and I’m out like a light. Alex told me later that I spent two and a half hours nailed to the chair like a dog tied to a street post looking for its owner.
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You chose wisely. Afternoon of day 2 was by far the worst for me. Couple of brutal climbs. 
Day three part one, Fisher Valley to Rock Castle campground
Get up, eat, break camp, prepare, and ride. We’re getting good at this.
We head south on Kokopelli’s trail to Thompson Canyon Road and start climbing. We will be climbing, with a couple of brief exceptions, for seventeen miles. Some of it’s quite sandy. V reels me in at the start and suggests that I pace myself rather than using up my energy by attacking early. I should know this, but I remain a dim-witted boy. We crawl up the north, then the east, side of Cowhead Hill, stopping to take pictures and eat, eventually reaching Hideout canyon overlook, one of many points with views back into the Fisher Valley.
Significant sections of the road require pushing due to combined sand and grade. The road has been recently graded – I’m not sure whether that made conditions better or worse.
We grind on to a right turn at the intersection with Polar Mesa Road. It’s getting cooler as we rise and there’s just enough breeze to keep things comfortable. Vegetation starts to change as we rise, with cottonwood and arrowroot showing up, and one jackrabbit.
We are definitely on close approach to the La Sal Mountains. We encounter motorcycles, ATVs, trucks and jeeps, all friendly and considerate. There’s a false summit someplace, followed by downhill and a final climb, topping out at 8,200 feet or thereabouts. Pavement appears and I start down. V disappears again, so I turn around and pedal back up a mile or so – someone has pointed out a path to some dinosaur tracks. I go in and look with her.
We fly down the paved road to lunch at Rock Castle campground. As usual, we’re close to the rear guard, but lunch is waiting.
Get up, eat, break camp, prepare, and ride. We’re getting good at this.
We head south on Kokopelli’s trail to Thompson Canyon Road and start climbing. We will be climbing, with a couple of brief exceptions, for seventeen miles. Some of it’s quite sandy. V reels me in at the start and suggests that I pace myself rather than using up my energy by attacking early. I should know this, but I remain a dim-witted boy. We crawl up the north, then the east, side of Cowhead Hill, stopping to take pictures and eat, eventually reaching Hideout canyon overlook, one of many points with views back into the Fisher Valley.
Significant sections of the road require pushing due to combined sand and grade. The road has been recently graded – I’m not sure whether that made conditions better or worse.
We grind on to a right turn at the intersection with Polar Mesa Road. It’s getting cooler as we rise and there’s just enough breeze to keep things comfortable. Vegetation starts to change as we rise, with cottonwood and arrowroot showing up, and one jackrabbit.
We are definitely on close approach to the La Sal Mountains. We encounter motorcycles, ATVs, trucks and jeeps, all friendly and considerate. There’s a false summit someplace, followed by downhill and a final climb, topping out at 8,200 feet or thereabouts. Pavement appears and I start down. V disappears again, so I turn around and pedal back up a mile or so – someone has pointed out a path to some dinosaur tracks. I go in and look with her.
We fly down the paved road to lunch at Rock Castle campground. As usual, we’re close to the rear guard, but lunch is waiting.
Day three part two, Rock Castle campground to Moab
We shuttle with two other people to the Sand Hill Road trailhead and ride to the entrance of UPS. We complete that successfully with a little confusion at a slickrock section with a bunch of idiot lines running out to nowhere. The sun’s getting low and we’re riding into it so it’s glary and hard to see the trail at times. Aware that there are only two of us and it’s late, we find LPS and start it, get to a tricky section and bag it, backtrack to Notch, start it, get to a section that we decide is a hell no, and ride back to Sand Road and head down. The sun glare is fierce and we’ve been riding for a long time; when we pass the slickrock there are enough people there that it looks like Newark. I’m riding OK, but actually getting bored and want to be in camp in done with it.
We get into the city as the sun’s setting. Directions to the campsite are confusing, but we find it just in time for supper. V asks Alex about night riding and he tells her she’s not going anywhere. They give out awards later in the evening and they invent the Energizer Bunny award and give it to her.
We have logged 55.9 miles with 6,025 feet of climbing for the day.
We shuttle with two other people to the Sand Hill Road trailhead and ride to the entrance of UPS. We complete that successfully with a little confusion at a slickrock section with a bunch of idiot lines running out to nowhere. The sun’s getting low and we’re riding into it so it’s glary and hard to see the trail at times. Aware that there are only two of us and it’s late, we find LPS and start it, get to a tricky section and bag it, backtrack to Notch, start it, get to a section that we decide is a hell no, and ride back to Sand Road and head down. The sun glare is fierce and we’ve been riding for a long time; when we pass the slickrock there are enough people there that it looks like Newark. I’m riding OK, but actually getting bored and want to be in camp in done with it.
We get into the city as the sun’s setting. Directions to the campsite are confusing, but we find it just in time for supper. V asks Alex about night riding and he tells her she’s not going anywhere. They give out awards later in the evening and they invent the Energizer Bunny award and give it to her.
We have logged 55.9 miles with 6,025 feet of climbing for the day.
Epilogue
I am not going to total my miles or my climbing. V and I both enjoyed the trip from one end to the other. We got back to Fruita, the bikes got packed, we had an excellent meal at El Tapatio in Fruita, where we talked our heads off. We both got back to our homes safely and are trying to adjust the “real world” except for me it’s not so real any more. I was not aware of how concerned I became for V as I waited in the fisher Valley until on the plane I sketched out rough notes for this essay and almost wept. When after hours of airports and planes my friend from work picked me up, and then I drove home from his house, I felt less than present in the wet green world of Vermont, very calm and removed and somehow still pedaling along under strong desert sun and wind. Something has happened that will remain with me.
I am not going to total my miles or my climbing. V and I both enjoyed the trip from one end to the other. We got back to Fruita, the bikes got packed, we had an excellent meal at El Tapatio in Fruita, where we talked our heads off. We both got back to our homes safely and are trying to adjust the “real world” except for me it’s not so real any more. I was not aware of how concerned I became for V as I waited in the fisher Valley until on the plane I sketched out rough notes for this essay and almost wept. When after hours of airports and planes my friend from work picked me up, and then I drove home from his house, I felt less than present in the wet green world of Vermont, very calm and removed and somehow still pedaling along under strong desert sun and wind. Something has happened that will remain with me.
Pretty wild country isn't it? Edward Abbey may have been on to something.
sweet jeebus. you insane, naggy old crone!
plus two more days of that type of insanity.
i'm jealous. and jealous. and jealous.
and i sincerely hope that my daughter is infected at some point in her life with the insanity that our family appears to inhabit.
mahalo for sharing your story with us.
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