Old trails never die, they just get harder to see.
Their names did, and still do, a good job of describing them in a few short words- The Puke Loop and The Meatgrinder. While their heydays of being a few open, flowing pieces of path connecting extended sections of tight turns, rocks, overhanging limbs, short and steep climbs, poorly angled roots, complicated descents, cactus and riding/hiking/trail running bliss have long passed, they can still be mostly followed. More than just a few body scars remain on people to help tell something about what the two were like back in the day and undoubtedly there are those that still think of mountain biking the Puke Loop whenever they find themselves hugging a commode.
Interesting events late at night during a 24 Hour mountain bike race.
Things got progressively weirder as the mountain bike race/event known as the 24 Hours of Moab continued. At some point in the middle of the night, two tandem bikes with riders dressed as frogs rode in from a direction that I knew had nothing to do with the race course. During the first lap, I’d been concerned when another racer didn’t correctly yield the trail to me on a long climb, but by the time the frog thing happened, nothing was flustering me. I was just pleased that the creatures stopped and waited at the side of the trail for me to pass before they moved on. For a moment, as I passed and rode on up toward the crest of the hill, I was consumed by the thought that they might have turned onto the same 15 mile long trail that me, and several hundred other riders had been riding loops on for over 12 hours, and consciously hoped that they were going counterclockwise like the rest of us. I reasoned that if they did, in fact, get on the trail, they just might at least have my back. And while that shouldn’t have necessarily given me comfort, it did. Upon coming to that realization, I felt a rush of new energy come into my legs and the rest of that first climb was almost pleasant. I never saw the four pseudo-amphibians again before the race ended the following noon. Even today, ten years later, I do find myself wondering from time to time, how many laps they made, if they did, in fact, make any.
A group of backpackers attempts to climb Lizard Head and learns the true meaning of climbing.
Lizard Head is a big peak just to the north and east of the well-known, long and breathtakingly majestic line of mountains, ridges and spires in the Wind River Range, known as the Cirque of the Towers. On one particular trip, we backpacked with two groups of 7, via different routes both coming in from the east, into Bear Lake. The lake sits just on the east side of Lizard Head and would be the location for our backcountry base camp. Once there, we set up two close, but separate camps between the lake and mountain with the plan to use them as a base from which to explore the area. Since it was during the Fourth of July holiday, we knew that there’d be a lot of people in the general area, but that few, if any, would venture into that, more out of the way, neck of the woods. Our plans included a non-technical ascent of Lizard Head, fishing in area streams and lakes as well as a special Fourth of July supper, which was to include freeze-dried hamburger patties- a cutting-edge item back in the 80’s. Continue reading “Hamburgers and Lizard Head”
An interesting turn of events while mountain biking some Copper Canyon singletrack.
Afterward, we began to call it the Trail of Death.
For the longest time, Batopilas, Mexico was connected to the small town of Cerro Colorado by just a little bit of dirt road and seven or so miles of trail, just barely wide enough for burro traffic. Then, a few years back, that same dirt road was bulldozed all the way into the little Copper Canyon town, although the last mile or so of the old trail still exists where the road took an easier route. The part of the trail that remains, is a testament to human ingenuity and persistence, and in places it literally clings to a rugged mountainside, almost 100 feet above the intermittent water and ever-present boulders of the Rio Cerro Colorado. Continue reading “Mountain Biking The Trail of Death”
Resbaloso, which is a Spanish word meaning slippery in English, is “that” word and also the name given to an infamous trail descent into the town of Creel.
Just seeing the word, much less speaking or hearing it, causes my pucker reaction to kick into high gear. Resbaloso, which is a Spanish word meaning slippery in English, is “that” word and also the name given to an infamous trail descent into the town of Creel. Continue reading “Resbaloso”
A race of sorts via mountain bike to the top of Batopilas Canyon in Copper Canyon, Mexico.
I set off from Batopilas, at the bottom of Copper Canyon, intent on riding my mountain bike up the 40 or so mile ascent to the intersection with the paved highway, as fast as I could. The unofficial record for doing that was 4 hours and my goal was to beat that. Whether or not it was realistic, will forever remain to be seen. Continue reading “The Ride Up from Batopilas”