Who's your favorite Saint?

Saint George.

Probably my favorite of all of the regular-name saints is Saint George. Saint Jim and Saint Bill would be cool if they could offer mind-blowing mountain biking!  I should mention that my mind’s been blown so many times by places like this that I'm surprised there’s still a fragment of tissue up there to excite. Something tells me it’s a never-ending supply.

A few things may have contributed to my feeling of absolute bliss upon arriving here. It all started out with a planned drive through the night Thursday night to make it here on Friday midday. I had to work Thursday night, and expected to be out of there and on the road by 11-ish. Well, the last night of Stout Month did not disappoint. I watched the 2 1/2 hour wait for the beer sloshing Boulderites to get their fix continue up until 10pm, leaving me officially dismissed from duties about midnight. Okay, 2 hrs past schedule; no biggie. Back home, shower, bikes loaded on car, on the road at 1am. Here's where things got fun.  The cruise started treacherously, as 93, which heads south from Boulder down to I70, was still covered in snow from the storms days ago. Still wondering which casino or pub the plowmen were hanging out at for the last three days. So a 20 min drive takes me 40. Ok, I’m still doing it. Hop on I70 and head west.  Given the awesome weather predictions for both the Front Range and where I was headed, I didn't even think to check the weather in the mountains. So i was rudely awakened by the falling snow and snow covered highway as I entered the mountains, and it only got worse.  I’d normally be cruising along at 70-75 mph, but was held at a pretty consistent 40 through the mountains.  During this time, and maybe as a result of it and its induced stress, I started to get more tired than I had predicted. I hadn’t planned to stop but was forced to lest I wanted to ghost-ride my car off a cliff. Wonder what I would’ve been dreaming about; maybe flying? A solid 3 hour nap was all I needed to get feeling fresh again. That and another cup of coffee.  Then, just as I was exiting the high mountains, with clear air and a fresh perspective, I noticed the temperature gauge on my Subaru rising.  I had noticed this before when driving up mountain passes, but this time it wasn’t coming back down right away.  So I got to Grand Junction and checked the coolant reservoir.  There it was, empty.  Fill it up with water, and back on the road.  I thought I was golden for about 2 hours, until the temp gauge started damning me again.  So I stop again, look under the car, and notice a few little dribbles of coolant on the ground.  Shit!  This can’t be good.  It could mean a host of problems, beginning with a simple leaky hose, and truly ending with a blown head gasket!  I’m now about 3 hours out from St. George, so decide it’s better to just push on and have it looked at once I’m there.  Luckily, my car made it to St. George in once piece, and stayed cool the entire rest of the way. 

At this point true bliss really set in.  I rolled into town, surrounded by red rock bluffs ala Sedona, and parked at the local bike shop.  When I got out of the car, the tropical feeling of dry heat and sunshine flooded my senses and made all worries go away!  I came here for a race, but in a few short minutes it seemed like more of a vacation.

I went out to the race venue, feeling sleepy again but with renewed inspiration.  It turns out that the race course, as well as a bunch of other amazing trails sit just on the edge of town.   The course was a 7-mile loop consisting of a couple doubletrack climbs and descents, some sweet flowing singletrack, and two climbs up rock washes.  A couple of the doubletrack descents had some tech-y line choices, rock drops, and other obstacles, and they were all SUPER fast.  Way faster than my current “been riding on dirt roads all winter” skill level and comfort level were ready for.  But I knew that I better get used to it fast, because no one would be holding back during the race.  I did two laps of the course, all the while trying to dial in certain line choices and get comfortable actually mountain biking again!  The speed of the descents had me a little nervous for race day, but damn it felt good to be riding like this again!  All in all, I thought the course was a great one.  I especially liked the rock wash climbs, which consisted of constant shale rock step-ups, some small, some large and technically demanding.  This was an area that I could get out of the saddle and go into “singlespeed” mode.

First pre-ride of the course.

On Friday night I chose to stay in a hotel as a result of all the stress of getting there and wanting to feel refreshed in the morning.  It worked.  Saturday morning was relaxing and smooth.    It made it easier that the start time wasn’t until noon.  I’m used to 8 am start times that barely give you time to get up, get to the venue, and get all of your stuff together.  I am not a 4 am riser!  I was able to get another pre-ride of the course in and be chilling in a camping chair by 9:30, just enjoying the bright sunshine.  Even with all of my stress-relieving measures taken before the race, I was still a bit tense and nervous in the minutes beforehand.  It turned out that there were 17 pros lined up in front.  As the race director counted down all thoughts went blank.  BOOM!  We were off in a blaze of furry.  There was about a ¼-mile doubletrack, slightly uphill, start for everyone to gain their positions before hitting the singletrack.  I was able to hold onto about 5^th position in this parade, without giving it maximum effort for fear of my heart exploding, until shortly before the entrance to singletrack, where about 4 or 5 guys put in a power shot and got by me.  This was very smart on their part.  Soon enough we would hit the rock-wash climb.  At this point I was riding a couple of guys’ wheels, and was able to make my pass.  During the ensuing climb I was able to get past one or two more guys.   Up ahead I could see what looked like 5^th or 6^th positions, and they also seemed to be struggling with the climbs.  When we got to the first descent two things happened.  First, I realized how hard I was breathing and how uncontrollable my heart rate was.  I didn’t feel good and my breathing didn’t slow the entire descent.  Second, I realized how quickly these guys could get away on the downhills!  Now I had even more work to do.  As we hit the second climb, I began reeling the two I had seen previously back in.  There was one point where I debated putting in a maximum surge, or just laying back and keeping my energy.  I chose for option B as my heart rate was still out of control and lungs on fire.  During the second descent that led back to the start/finish the racers ahead put in a huge gap.  I wouldn’t see them again.  I did though see the bright green Topeak/Ergon kit of Jeff Kerkove coming on my tail shortly into the second lap.  At this point my heart rate had calmed down and I was really starting to get into my groove.  He had passed me for a minute or two, but I attacked on one of the short punchy climbs, got by, and ensued to lengthen that gap during the first rock-wash climb.  I was so stoked just to be racing beside Jeff, never even thinking that I could be competitive with him.   He is one of the best endurance racers in the country, and has been racing mountain bikes for a long time!  It turned out that we would be trading positions for the next couple of laps, which was fun.  The cat-and-mouse was pretty interesting.   Then it was all over.  Flying down the last 300 meters of rocky doubletrack at 30+ mph the rear end of my bike bounced up and came down violently on a sharp rock; the rock penetrating the sidewall of my tire.  Damn!!  That was about it.  I rolled into the start/finish and blasted a CO2 cartridge in there hoping that the Stan’s sealant would close the puncture, but all I heard was “psssssssss….”

My initial reaction to this race was that of satisfaction.  I was not worried about results coming into it.  That being said, I definitely wish I could've finished.  It was a huge day of firsts for me; first race of the season, first Pro race, first time racing a geared bike, and first time really railing a mountain bike in months! I was pretty much an open slate, looking at it as a measuring stick for my progress to date.  First and foremost, I was satisfied; no, I was electrified by how much fun the race was!  It was the first reminder in a long time of why I do this and love the sport so much.  I had fun riding my bike!  I was then satisfied with my body’s ability to put in that effort and adjust, and actually feel good.   This was my first race since early August.  That’s 7 months without pushing myself to these limits.  I’m guessing that most of these guys haven’t had that kind of layoff.  Many of them were probably racing cross just weeks ago.  I guess some of the things I’ve been doing in the offseason have actually worked.  I felt stronger than last year already.  I remember my first race last year, which wasn’t until mid-April, and it was much more painful than this.  I’m ecstatic to seemingly have decent fitness this early on in the year.  It was also a great learning experience for areas of improvement; power and bike-handling come to mind first.  I never thought that races could be won or lost (not that I was in that position) on the downhills.  But a few of the guys ahead of me were able to put more of a gap on me on the descents then I could make back up on the climbs.  Hopefully as the year progresses and I spend more time on real trails this area of my game will improve.  Overall, it was a great learning experience, and great fun on some awesome trails.  Who would’ve thought that in my first race of the year, on March 2^nd, that I would suffer sunburn!  Gotta love Southern Utah.

Later on in the day, after a couple hours of relaxation, I hooked up with a group of about 8 to ride the adjacent trail system.  The Shinobi was brought out of its quiver as my weapon of choice.  The loop we did, called the Zen trail, was like some of the stuff I’ve ridden in Moab.  After climbing for about 30-40 minutes to the top of the mesa on technical, rocky, and slickrock spiced trail, we came to an overlook that seemed endless.  From this point on it was mostly a downhill shred-fest descending red dirt singletrack, rock-drops, across big patches of slickrock, and down steep technical rock-faces.  Pretty much everything you could ask for in a good trail ride, and a perfect way to end the day. 

Sunday was spent in the hot sun on mountain bikes.  Terrible isn’t it?  I got shown around an awesome flowing singletrack trail system courtesy of Jeff Kerkove and Karen Jarchow.  I then ended the day with a ride on my own on free-ride style trail.  On the map it shows just one single trail, about 5 miles long that you would do as an out-and-back.  In actuality there were literally hundreds of trails, all with varying sizes of jumps, berms, hops, and rollers to pick from all in an area of a couple square miles.  It’s basically a spaghetti ball of fun just west of town.

Photo courtesy of Jeff Kerkove

Photo courtesy of Jeff Kerkove

On Monday I spent the day up in Hurricane, bordering Zion National Park, riding a big loop which ended with the Hurricane Rim Trail.  Epic views of the canyon rim and singletrack for 7.5 miles was all it had to offer.

Hurrican Rim Trail.  A lot further down than it looks.

Rim Trail.  Virgin River.

There is too much good about St. George for me to continue on in detail.  Let me just say this: any place with this high of quality of mountain biking, and this much of it within close proximity, matched with great-quality Mexican food, also in great abundance, should not be passed up.  Every day of this journey has ended with a big burrito on the cheap!  No Don Pablos here, esay!

Burritos galore!

If I was a real man I’d be doing the True Grit Epic in two weeks in the same area.  One of the most brutal endurance races out there, and also the first of the season?  I’ll pass.

Evasion Tactics

This time of year in Colorado is like playing hide-and-go-seek with the weather.  It’s incredibly nice one day, almost summer-like, then snowing the next.  Good rides are hard to come by when the combination of unpredictable weather, unpredictable trail conditions, and unpredictable work-hours and other “real-life” stuff is all thrown in a bag, mixed around, and dumped out.  If everything lines up correctly, you can have a phenomenal day.  But you better take your opportunities when they arise. 

I got one “decent” ride in this weekend.  Honestly, I can’t even really consider it a ride.  It was more of a test-session/joy-cruise/get-your-fix-before-the-shit-weather-hits-the-fan ride.  It was another chance for me to test the capabilities of Sensei Shinobi, my Ninja bike instructor.  On Saturday snow was projected to start falling around 1pm.  My view from downtown Boulder that morning was one of sunshine to the east and mild temps, with a thick blanket of milky clouds consuming the flatirons and hills to the west.  This generally means one thing: something is coming out of the sky in the hills above.  I wanted to “test” the Shinobi at Walker ranch, a local trail with some rocking-fast, steep, pick-your-own-line-and-hold-on descents, and equally abusive climbs.  It’s a good place to test a new rig; or maybe just a good place to have some fun.  Normally I would do what is called the Super-Walker.  You ride from town, up Flagstaff past the “fake summit” (where the roadies in this year’s USA Pro Cycling Challenge concluded their day) on to the true summit, down another couple of miles to Walker Ranch, then ride the 8+ mile loop at Walker, however many times you deem necessary or of acceptable bodily destruction, turn around and make the climb back to the top of Flagstaff, and coast on home.  

Typical "Super-Walker" route.

Two things discouraged me from taking on that task on Saturday.  One being time, the other being the blizzard I got caught in on the same ride on a very similar day last April.  Instead I loaded up the bike, got in my fuel-burning box of steel, and drove to the trailhead.

The ride was great.  I started to feel more dialed-in on Sensei Shinobi than I had in my previous lesson.  A couple of things that I liked: handling and cornering at speed felt better than any other bike I’ve been on.  I felt comfortable leaning the bike into corners more so than I would on any XC rig, and didn’t even come close to pushing its limits.  The way it eats up trail obstructions/obstacles is confidence inspiring.  Again, I haven’t even come close to pushing its limits in this way.  The stiffness of the chassis, with beefy linkages and thru-axle rear, burly wheels, etc. combined with an efficient suspension platform, is amazing when standing up to climb.  A few things that were meh:  The bars and stem need to go.  Wider bars, shorter stem.  This combo should only add to the playfulness and handling ability of the bike.  The super-long wheelbase.  This is great when cornering at speed, as mentioned above, but can feel a bit cumbersome in slow speed corners.  I could actually feel the delay of the rear end lagging behind in slow speed turns.  This is just one nuance of this extremely well-designed and well-built bike that I will get used to.  It definitely doesn’t take anything away from a good day spent riding.  The dropper post.  The only time I used it was before one of the steepest and most technical descents at Walker.  But, I did so very consciously.  Not the on-the-fly instinctual feeling I would like, but maybe more time with it is needed.  My buddy from Sedona has different thoughts on the matter…

Hmmm… an excuse to further “test” the bike?  Maybe a trip to Sedona is in store.

Just as I got back to my car the first snow-flakes were making an appearance, and not more than 5 minutes later they started falling with intensity.  Perfect timing.  Cheers.

How quickly weather can change in Boulder.

Winter Daze

Its winter in Colorado.  Damn its col… O sweet it’s Spring in Colorado.  Ahhh, soak in that warm sunsh… shit, its winter in Colorado again. 

Today I departed for what was supposed to be a big ride in the mountains.  It only took about 20 minutes to realize that today wasn’t my day.  It felt like I had jet lag.  I’m actually not sure at all what jet lag feels like, but if it feels anything like the wind-down after 10 days of working my ass off, riding my ass off, and then partying my ass off, then I had it.  And I don’t have much ass to lose.  Not to mention that my body was still recovering from the 4 ½ hours spent on my new 31 lb full-suspension the day before.  It was a shred-fest.  More on that later.  So after a few short miles this morning I turned it around; something I rarely, if ever, do.  I’ve spent countless rides in the doldrums, only the dregs of energy left in my body, pushing on and through, coming out the other side usually feeling worse.  It’s not a pretty sight, and today I decided against it.  Good thing I did!  A few hours after returning home, at which point I would’ve been somewhere high in the mountains, a white cloud engulfed the hills in front of me and proceeded to dump snow.  Never have I been so happy with my decision to give up and be lazy.  Cheers to being a quitter. 

Not my pic, but much like I saw this afternoon.

Speaking of quitting, shouldn’t Lance just give up?  Jesus man, everyone knows what you did, doesn’t care anymore and you still can’t tell the truth?  That “confession” bullshit was so lame.  Oh, you’re being SO sincere Lance.  But only sincere enough to hopefully get your ass out of trouble.  You can just keep lying about everything else that doesn’t matter and hopefully no one will notice.  And hopefully not many people did.  I did completely waste a couple hours of my life watching the first Doprah episode, and still haven’t seen the second.  It was pathetic, that’s it. Rant over.

Back to cool shit.  I actually used my day in a semi-productive, semi-expensive, semi-exploratory manner.  Sorry, I’m kind of sort of a little bit non-committal sometimes.  Anyways, with a new build on the cusp of becoming a reality, I needed to make some moves.  Luckily, it’s a singlespeed, so not many “moves” need to be made.  I have already secured bars, stem, post, fork(YOU!), wheels, brakes, etc.  How am I supposed to make all of this stuff go around? Right, cranks.  A few minutes of perusing the interwebs (which usually catches me like a fly wherein the giant spider comes in to suck my brain dry) were all it took to find my match.  SRAM’s new XX1 crankset.  Still comes in a “normal” bottom bracket configuration, lightweight, and the hottest shit going!  Boom! Ordered. Done.  Then I packaged up and sent my fancy crabon fibre Lefty off to Mendon Cyclesmith for some much needed maintenance.  Maybe a much-needed overhaul.  We’ll see.   Next up I get an email from some guy at some shop telling me that some color choice for my new frame was only some number of weeks out.  Good to know that I don’t have to succumb to the Henry Ford marketing model from the 30’s.  “You can have any color as long as it’s black” is not a good marketing option for modern-day bike companies.

So it’s snowing right now.  Yesterday was a bit different.  I was slightly (tremendously) hung over, but couldn’t pass up the opportunity to enjoy shorts and t-shirt sunny weather coupled with dry trails and a new shred-worthy steed ready to rock and roll.  I made my way to the nearby Heil Ranch trail, which at its best is a rocky trail, at its worst a complete clusterfuck rock garden.  I ride this trail about once a month, and the succession usually goes like this:  

 O sweet, rocks, obstacles, challenges... damn I’m feeling good, this is hard but fun, really making me work... okay a little bit is fun, but can I just get to some flowing singletrack... no! More rocks! Your hands hurt? More rocks!  Oh your back hurts? More rocks! Wanna go uphill, downhill, sideways, in/out? More rocks! Screw this; I’m not coming back for a month.   

In fairness, the builders have done their best at creating a sweet trail system out of a boulder field, and I’ve been riding it on a hardtail.  On this day my experience was different.  It was my first time on a full-suspension in over 6 months, and one with more travel than any bike I’ve owned.  As I made the initial climb the feeling I had forgotten quickly came back.  Just sit back, grind, and let the front/rear do their work.  No need for carefully executed line choices.  Just plow right into, through, and over those pesky little trail obstructions.  And when the trail goes down is when the going gets good.  It didn’t take long for me to gain a fair amount of confidence in the Shinobi’s capabilities.  With new found confidence in my machine, it was only my own confidence in descending and skill that held me back.  Let er rip!  4 ½ hours, 36 miles, including a trip through Lyons up to Hall Ranch, a spin around there and back down through Heil Ranch one more time was all it took for a good day. 

I learned a lot about the Shinobi yesterday, but many more rides need to be had on this machine to give an objective review.  First, it descends better than any bike I’ve owned.  That might be obvious considering the 140mm of travel up front, but I think it has more to do with the geometry and slack head tube angle.  What was most surprising to me was the climbing efficiency.  I honestly could not tell if the back was bobbing at all while climbing!  And when standing up and powering to get up a steep or techy section, it seemed to leap forward without any hesitation.  Considering I climbed over 4400ft on a 31 lb bike and left without feeling much tire in my legs means it must be an efficient climbing bike.  The handling felt good, but a lot more time needs to be spent on it for me to completely figure it out.  Overall, it is definitely an incredibly stiff, burly, and capable machine.  The FUN is back!

And then I made rice cakes.  Never should your ClifBar expenditure exceed beer.  As I am writing this my roommates are devouring them.  Fail.

Dick's Power Mix

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.