The High Alpine On Borrowed
Time Bonus Days Mountain Bike Epic resumed this week with stages 3 &
4. Riders came out in big numbers in
support of the greatest mountain bike event the world has ever seen. Stages 3 & 4 encompassed everything that
mountain biking is and isn’t; everything that it could be and doesn’t want to
be. Actually, mountain biking couldn’t
give a shit. That’s why I’m here. The overarching theme of these stages was “It’s
not mountain biking unless _____.”
Stage 3 started off on Sunday
morning, way too early for normal (intoxicated-the-night-before-I-enjoy-my-sleep-but-still-insist-on-going-to-bed-way-too-late-and-getting-4-hours-of-sleep)
people. It was actually a co-stage,
sharing the prestige with Redstone Cyclery’s annual Big Fall Ride. The early
start was actually a blessing in some regards.
As the fog still rolled around in my and others’ heads, the
never-before-mentioned co-race director Death March Dave was formulating his
evil concoction of pain and suffering, with just enough fun thrown in to thwart
your second-guessing. It’s not mountain
biking unless you don’t know where you’re going.
 |
| Dave giving pre-epic directions. Nobody listened. |
We took the early drive up to
Allens Park, a small mountain town west of St. Vrain canyon on the Peak to Peak
Highway. There were no less than 30
riders ready to see how the day would unfold.
An epic stage with this many riders of varying abilities on extremely
rugged backcountry terrain could be a recipe for disaster. I adopted the mindset of “fend for yourself,
chumps” early on. It’s not mountain
biking unless people get lost. The ride started with a grueling gravel road
turned jeep road turned ATV trail climb.
Then we hit the first singletrack of the day. After this point specifics get a little
hazey. It was rocky. Really rocky.
There was a lot of hiking. Then more hiking.
We finally came to the summit, regrouped (or so we thought), and began a
monstrous descent that included more and more rocks, and overall technical
trail.
 |
| Regroup |
I crashed, more than once. It’s not mountain biking unless you crash.
 |
| Mine wasn't caught on camera. |
 |
| Lilly Pond |
We came to the bottom of this descent,
counted bodies, realized we were missing 5, waited, waited, sent a search
party, left said search party, and continued our ride. We continued on to the Sourdough Trail, known
for its rugged and rocky nature, and presumed to climb for a while until we hit
a high mountain meadow, with amazing views of the snow-capped Indian Peaks and
golden aspens. It’s not mountain biking
without epic views.
 |
| Sourdough. Why does it look like she is smiling? |
Then we descended
down the most technical section of trail of the day. I believe we were on the lower South St.
Vrain trail, but again, it’s not mountain biking unless you’re lost, and
hiking. At this point our group
split. Death March Dave and a few others
went the fast and easy route to the Peak to Peak highway to catch up and corral
the rest of the group, while I and 4 or 5 others descended down some sweet,
moderately technical singletrack. Just
as I was getting in my first really good groove of the day, really feeling the
trail, rock-surfing and bouncing around with reckless abandon, the rider ahead,
Cristina Begy, stopped to take a look at her bike. What she saw was a brake rotor, minus all 6
brake rotor bolts. Well, I guess it’s
not mountain biking unless, for fucking Christ, this is getting a bit ridiculous;
unless your brake rotor bolts disappear all at the same time. I still have absolutely no way of explaining
this phenomenon. I’ve had one loose rotor bolt before, and I could
tell. To lose a couple, and maybe not notice? Somewhat believable. For all six to fall out and not notice until
they’re gone is insanity. She was in fact rocking a single speed REEB
all day and smiling, so to this end I’m attributing this magical mishap to her
having other-worldly powers, simply deciding not to use the brakes, and just
being a bad-ass chick. She stole 3 bolts
from the front wheel and put them on the rear, and rode the rest of the day
(mostly downhill)! Then we were on to a
nice road climb up the Peak to Peak highway.
Upon peeling off to head down a dirt road the skies decided to suddenly
open up. By the time I could put my rain
shell on it was an all out hail storm.
We were flying down this dirt road at 30+ mph getting smacked in the face
with hail. It’s not mountain biking
unless you get hailed on. The dirt road
led us to maybe the most fun descent of the day. It was a secret moto trail somewhere west of Jamestown
that only Death March Dave would know about.
The first part was super tight and steep and slick, barely squeezing
between trees and clumsily dancing over wet roots and rocks. I passed one of the guys in our group,
standing on the side of the trail. He
was holding his arm and looked like he had just seen a ghost. I think what he saw was the ground
approaching his face at a very high rate of speed. I passed, asked the courteous “are you
alright” with no intention of stopping, and continued on my glorious way. One of the chicks riding with us apparently
decided to Superman over a log. Only
Superman would not have dove head first into the ground, so it was a poor
impression. Maybe she was doing her
post-Superman Chris Reeves impression.
It’s not mountain biking unless there are bad superhero references and
swollen faces. We made our way into
Jamestown after a ripping descent. I
forgot to bring beer. Mistake. Then we rolled down the road for a bit,
hopped onto an OHV trail that subsequently passed through a firing range – an inhabited
very active firing range - and headed toward Heil Ranch. It’s not mountain biking unless you encounter
gun-wielding hillbilly’s that are more than happy to blast off thirty rounds in
your presence. We finished the ride
through Heil; about 8 miles of fast flowing tended singletrack as tacky as your
tires could take, and were dumped out right in Lyons where cold OB beers were
waiting for us. It's not mountain biking without a wet happy ending; serviced by Dale's. It was a sweet way to
end the day, after having spent most of it maneuvering over and around rocks of
various sizes and ego-destroying capabilities.
Almost 50 miles on the dot, 5500ft of climbing, and over 8k of descent. Thanks Redstone Cyclery, Oskar Blues &
REEB.
 |
| At some point a keg of OB showed up. I indulged. |
No comments:
Post a Comment