Back at the Gap

I first heard of Mulberry Gap from my dad who heard about it from a Gulf Coast Bike Club friend. My dad sent me a link to it suggesting it as a cool vacation, but my first thoughts were "awesome summer job opportunity". And that's exactly what happened that summer. Now two years later it's one of four stops on my off-season road trip to The South. It's one of my favorite places of all time (Lucy probably thinks so too!) with a combination of epic trails, great food, and a friendly atmosphere.

The trails are fantastic. Challenging but rideable climbs. Long fast descents, some flowy, some technical. There's even some nice views thrown in here and there. My first time riding the gravel road to the top of Bear Creek Trail I thought I might die. I stopped fifty yards from the top and sat down. Riding it today wasn't nearly as bad but still not easy. Not only are there more miles of trail right out the gate than you want to ride in one day, but within an hour or so drive, there's several hundred miles of trails including a seven mile rock garden, machine-built groomed flow, and everything in between. A fellow rider once said, "[he] could learn more about mountain biking in a week at Mulberry Gap than a year of riding [his] home trails". Almost all the trails were built with drainage and sustainability in mind and can be ridden just a few hours after a rain shower. They're also rideable year-round; though it might get a little cold in winter.

I managed to break my pedal coming off a jump. As you can see, they've been thoroughly abused. I knew they were on their last leg, but that's not how I imagined they would go. Luckily, I was still able to clip into the other side to finish my ride.

The facilities are as equally great as the trails. "Down Home" food, cozy cabins and campsites, and the cleanest bathhouse you'll find in a campground. If I didn't like mountain biking, I'd still come for the food. Two waffles, eggs, sausage, sliced bananas and strawberries will last me at least 40 miles, and there's great recovery food for dinner. The camaraderie among guests is unmatched. Cyclists come from far and wide (including other countries), all for a common goal. There's always interesting conversation around the dinner table. It's also been called dog heaven by several guests. Lucy has woods to roam, trails to run, other dogs to play with, and people to give her scraps and attention.

It's hard to adequately describe this place, but one can see why Lucy and I and hundreds of other mountain bikers like it so much. The surrounding area is pretty cool too; maybe in the future I'll get to visit more often.

Cross Country Driving

The drive from Colorado to Mississippi is a long one. Two (or more) full days of sitting in the same spot for hours on end. I can’t say it’s fun, but it’s certainly a unique learning experience. You can’t know just how big the country is until you’ve driven it. Watching the landscape turn from mountains, to mesas, to dessert, to grasslands to forest is spectacular. Watching thunderstorms roll across the plains was pretty awesome too. I’ve learned that the Four Corners region is dominated by Native Americans. It’s sad too, because that might just be the worst land in the country. There are also a lot of reservations in Oklahoma. The Cherokee Nation even has its own car tags.

You get to see a lot of neat things on highways, but interstates are great when you need to really crank out some miles. I’ve gotten to check out places I otherwise would never go. For example, I’ve been camping out by Ouachita Lake in Arkansas for two nights, and Lucy and I rode 17ish miles on the Womble Trail, an IMBA Epic.

I’ve just now realized how little I know about my own country, but I’m slowly building up an internal map. I now have a good idea of what Colorado, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas look like in addition to the Southern states. I’m excited to explore the rest of the country, all in good time. In the book I’ve been reading, Travels with Charley, Steinbeck says that Americans are more American than they are Southern or Western or Northern. Just something I’ve been thinking about as I make my way down the road.

Camping Setup

Camping used to mean so much to me. For two or three years, I made it a goal to camp at least once a month, and for the most part, I met that goal. Eventually, I camped in my hammock for a month straight, thunderstorms and all, during my summer at Mulberry Gap. I loved the challenge of camping, the independence, the simplicity. As Thoreau put it, I was "living deliberately".

Now that I have that freedom and independence in everyday life, the meaning of camping has changed. It's no longer an end but a means to an end. I camp so that I can explore new places and ride new trails. The allure of "roughing it" has faded. I'm sure I'll still go backpacking from time to time, but most places I want to go are accessible by driving, IF you have high clearance and/or four wheel drive. So, in preparation for a two week road trip starting next weekend and for future camping excursions, I did a little work in my truck bed.

About $175.00 and half a day's work, and I've got a comfortable, functional setup. I started with a cheap 5'x7' area rug and cut it to fit the bottom of the truck bed for comfort, hopefully a little insulation, and to keep things from sliding around so much. A lot of sleeping platforms I've seen go all the way across, and are designed for two people. And, if/when I ever have another girlfriend, I'll happily add another section. For one person, however, this setup is more flexible. This way I have room for coolers, boots, bike gear, and most importantly, a place to sit. The small platform for Lucy's bed towards the front of the truck is removable, so I can sit and read when it rains. For lighting, I just used a small led flashlight with a lanyard looped around the topper frame.

The platform itself is constructed from three 1"x10"s and a sheet of 3/8" plywood cut to 30" wide. For some cushion, I folded a 1.5" queen size mattress topper in half, which comes to 29" in width, and stuffed it in a zippered fleece blanket that I already had. It was the cheapest option at Walmart.

Under the platform, is plenty more storage space. There's room for three of those plastic containers with quite a bit left over that I can't access at the moment. Maybe when I'm back on the coast with access to a jig saw, I'll cut out a front hatch and store seldom used items up there. The plastic containers will hold food, cooking equipment, clothes, and general camping gear. The furthest one has a line tied to it for easy access. The plywood seen on top of the bin is my tailgate countertop.

The only thing it lacks is insulation, which is in the works, but not a high priority. I'd also like to find a way to install a small wood stove without catching the topper on fire...probably just a dream. There's a company in Virginia that makes tiny wood stoves out of ammo cans that would be perfect though.

The downside to all this is that I'm in the market for a new four wheel drive vehicle. I'm leaning towards another Tacoma, which would be an easy swap, but 4runners and FJs are also a consideration. The sleeping platform could be adapted easily enough though.

Road Apple Rally

My trophy says 1st place, but in most races it would say 3rd. Last weekend's mountain bike race down in Farmington, NM was awesome! The Road Apple Rally is the longest running annual mountain bike race, with the first one occuring in 1981. There were even some big names there like Ned Overend - the guy who started Specialized Bikes. It was a great race with a format I've never seen.

In most cross country races, Cat 3 rides about 10 miles, Cat 2 20 miles, and Cat 1 30. But, in this race, Cat 3 road 15 miles, while everyone else road 30. Having never raced 30 miles, I was a little unsure about pacing. My normal distance of 20 miles is close to a sprint. But, in this race I went with a fast endurance pace focusing on efficiency and only pushing myself on the climbs when there was a clear benefit like passing others. The other strange thing about the format was the mass start. It was a little hectic with a couple hundred people riding so close. Fortunately, the first mile or so was a paved road, then dirt, leading to single track, so I was able to pass a good number of people right off the bat.

The single track sections were fantastic with lots of whoop-di-whoops and short steep climbs and descents. Farmington is on the edge of the desert, but luckily the temperatures were nice throughout the day. About 10 minutes before the race, I realized I had left my water bottle at home. (Along with stove fuel and a warm hat - next time I'm making a checklist.) It wasn't a huge deal though. In most 20 mile races I go without water unless it's really hot as there's usually no time to drink, and it's extra weight.

With the mass start format, I had no idea what place I was in, but it turns out over halfway through the race I was right behind the guy who got first. We hit another stretch of road, and he took off since he was running a much higher gear. After that, I got stuck behind some people, and was eventually passed by another single speeder. By the end I was just under 3 minutes behind.

In this race, they divided the single speed category into age groups, which is why my trophy says 1st. Overall, I got 3rd out of 17, which I'm happy with considering I'd never ridden the course, never raced 30 miles, and didn't know what gear to run. The real kicker is that the guy who got first is 57! I can only hope to be in that kind of shape when I'm that old.

Trail Maintenance!

Since living in Telluride, I've discovered that resort/destination trails are high maintenance. Reason being that tourists are only here for a short time and will ride them in any condition. Unfortunately, the Parks and Rec Department is too busy maintaining the bike park and pouring new concrete on the Boulevard Trail, and the Forest Service is too understaffed with too much land to maintain to worry about trail maintenance here.

So, I took it upon myself to do a little trail work yesterday and fix some of the drainage issues on the Prospect Trail. At the moment, my only trail tool is a metal rake. I quickly learned that all of the big problems will require moving more dirt than I'm willing to move with a rake, but I did manage to fix some smaller issues. For the bigger drainage problems, I ordered a Rogue Hoe online two weeks ago, but they were back ordered. Hopefully, it'll be here next week. For those wondering, a Rogue Hoe is a somewhat short handled hoe with a thick, sharp, 5 pound blade. It is, in my opinion, the best all around trail tool. I've previously used one that belonged to a coworker at Mulberry Gap. It's great for moving dirt, breaking new ground, packing down loose dirt, and cutting roots. It'll also get used for vehicle recovery on camping trips should the need arise.

On another note, cycling here is absolutely amazing, but my muscles take longer to recover at this high altitude. So, I've been expanding my hobbies. Did some rock climbing and bouldering last week and I got my fishing license and a few flies today!

Imogene Pass

Single speeds are stupid. Especially when attempting a 13,000ft 4x4 mountain pass. It's fine for designated bike trails, but riding anything else around here is just brutal. Honestly, it makes riding not fun. The premise behind single speeds is that in rolling terrain you can use your momentum from the downhill to help you up the next hill. Imogene Pass, however, is a sustained 7 mile climb.

The first 5 miles up to the ghost town of Tomboy weren't too bad. After that the road became steeper with big loose rocks. It stayed that way until the summit, a distance of about 2 miles. I walked a good bit of that, but I had come too far to give up. Along the way, I passed an old mine shaft that was partially boarded up. It renewed my interest in spelunking, but I haven't been able to find any information about caves or mines in the area. The town of Tomboy was pretty interesting too. I read that it used to contain a school and a general store. I can't imagine living in a basin at that altitude.

The top of the pass was well worth the effort; even though, it was cold with blasting winds. A shot of Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey really hit the spot. It took a few hours to get up and about 25 minutes coming down. I would've liked to continue down the other side to Ouray riding through Ridgway and back to Telluride on Last Dollar Road, a relatively mild mountain pass. That route would only be 63 miles, but it was already 5 o'clock when I reached the summit.

I started and ended the ride with about 10 miles of single track. I may attempt another pass or the route through Ouray but only with a geared bike. Regarding my previous post about cyclocross bikes, I'd like to clarify that they make great adventure bikes in most parts of the country, but out here on the western slope, I think one would be better off with a geared, full suspension 29er. That's my plan for next season, but for now I have to focus on a 4wd truck and a snowboard!

Climbing Mt Sneffels: 14150'

 

Climbing a mountain has been on my bucket list for a while, but the experience of climbing Mt Sneffels was more than I could've imagined. It was long, exhausting, exciting, and at times, terrifying. The peak lies only 4.5 miles north of Telluride, but the San Sophia Ridge blocks the way. So, we had to drive an hour to the trailhead in Ouray.

From the trailhead, the climb was around 6 miles round trip and over 2000 vertical feet. It started out like a normal hike, but after about 1.5 miles it got steeper and rockier. Soon there was no trail. I picked my own way up the scree field. In some spots there were big rocks lodged in the earth to hang on to. In other spots there was only loose gravel. My biggest fear was kicking a rock loose and having it hit someone below me, or getting hit myself by a rock from above. Once on top of the ridge we turned south and climbed up another scree field in a narrow chute.

It's strange seeing snow in the middle of August, but it was nice and cool at this altitude. At the top of the chute, we then climbed through a notch in the solid rock to get to the final approach to the peak. That might've been the scariest part. Falling there might not have meant certain death, but the chance was pretty high, if not from the fall itself, then from injuries and exposure while waiting to be rescued. After that it was a short, simple climb to the top. The view was spectacular - countless mountain ranges for seemingly endless miles to the north, east, and south. Blue alpine lakes in the valley to the south, and desert to the west. We could even see the Telluride ski area and the backside of San Sophia Ridge. It was definitely worth it, but we were only halfway through the journey. The climb down wasn't quite as demanding, but it was more difficult to tell which rocks were stable.

 

Oh yea, Lucy climbed it too! For the most part she did better than me. I had to help her up a few big rocks, and navigating the notch with her was a little tricky. Sometimes small dogs are better in the outdoors. During the climb I thought this would be my first and last one, but I'm thinking I may do another. The adrenaline, the view, and the sense of danger is addicting. This is why I came to Colorado, to get out of my comfort zone.