High Alpine OBTBDMB Epic (for short): Stage 3

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.

Brown County - Nostalgia - Dirt Rag

Opening up the new Dirt Rag this week was more exciting than usual, for me.  Little did I know there would be an article showcasing my favorite trail system; a place that is near and dear to my heart.  If you live in Indiana, especially anywhere south of Indianapolis, and know anything about mountain biking (including that $59.99 Wal-Mart special you bought for your kid), you have heard about Brown County State Park.  It is truly an Epic trail system, and brings back so many good memories.  I didn’t exactly need the soul-crushing, heart-stabbing, nostalgia-inducing pictures that Dirt Rag included, but still I can’t stop looking.

Brown County was my first true love.  Oh how we danced in each other’s arms on countless sunny days, ran through the rain together, and frolicked in the sheer joy of being alive.  Actually, I’m not going to take credit for any of the frolicking; I’ll put that on you, B.C.  It introduced me to the real (good) fruit of mountain biking.  Then I wallowed in that sweet fruit juice, me and it fermenting maturing together, at which point I found myself heavily intoxicated, stumbling down the road of adventure.  In my quest for new adventures in the mountain biking realm, I find myself constantly comparing trail systems to Brown County.  I haven’t found one that stacks up yet.  Sure, I’ve had as many, if not more “epic” rides in my short time in Colorado, not to mention Moab and Sedona, than I would get at Brown County, but it’s still not the same.  

The article does a good job at showcasing why Brown County is so good.  The fact that you can ride every trail in the park in either direction, and get an equally awesome, and totally different experience, is one thing it mentions.  The fact that you can ride over 30 miles, and be on incredible flowing singletrack the entire time, in the beautiful dense woods of southern Indiana, is another.  The quality of the trails is also of note.  There are no garbage trails; connectors; fire road.  These are all professionally purpose-built mountain biking trails.  Every level of technical expertise is represented.  I also loved the articles opening statement, 

“When you think of epic trails, Indiana doesn’t immediately spring to mind.  So when the International Mountain Bicycling Association decided to bestow epic status on Brown County State Park in southern Indiana last year, a lot of people out west were left scratching their heads.  But folks who ride these trails on a regular basis had their own question, namely, “What took so long?””

My sentiment exactly.  Now living in Colorado, I struggle to open people’s eyes and minds to the quality of riding and trail-building in the Midwest. Talking with a bike shop friend the other day, he said “You don’t need mountains for good mountain biking.”  True that.

If you ever have the chance, the Brown County Breakdown is one of the most incredible days of epic mountain biking, bluegrass music, beer and good people that one can have.  Check it out.