Part 1
I set off from Batopilas, at the bottom of Copper Canyon in Mexico, intent on riding my mountain bike up the 40-or-so-mile gravel road to the intersection with the paved highway connecting Creel to the Batopilas area and Guachochi. My plan was to ride it as fast as possible and break the unofficial 4-hour record. Whether or not my quest was realistic will forever remain unknown.
We topped the ridge on the dirt road and began dropping quickly on our mountain bikes into the valley. Each of us knew that it’d continue to get warmer and greener as we descended from the Bolivian highlands, but our thoughts were mostly focused on what awaited us at the end of the ride. The anticipated post-ride rewards were different for each person- a warm bath, cold beer, hot coffee, or a dry room. And so, we thought of those things, and little else, as the town of Sorata came increasingly into view.
It started out as a simple and straightforward thing to do. Lou took off, leading our group of British mountain bikers back to camp. Just seconds after beginning the ride, he rounded a corner and rode up on a four-foot Rattlesnake stretched out across the trail. Instinctively, he hit his brakes extra hard, which caused him to crash. When the dust settled, he was lying on the side of the trail, penned between a cactus and the rattler. The Brits had quickly stopped and looked on in horror as their guide, and the viper were suddenly face to face, and only a couple of feet apart.
Ride the momentum,
To the top.
Since it’s down from there,
No need to stop.
Spin the pedals,
Think going faster,
Picture circles,
Then ride on past her.
Keep looking at,
The crest ahead.
Smile, relax,
And show no dread.
Breathe loud and proud,
From the gut.
Don’t hide your breath,
Or try to keep your mouth shut.
Loosen your grip,
And relax your neck,
Stay on the trail,
Avoid a wreck.
Don’t look back,
But think instead,
About what you’ve passed,
And the trail ahead.
Then suddenly you’re there,
And all the up’s behind.
That’s when you can sit back and cruise,
Because there’s no more grind.
Remember that
The climbs are fun.
Cause when they end,
That game’s been won.
Ryan had never bonked before, at least in the metabolic shock/ overexertion sense of the word. When he started bumbling around and losing more and more of his edge, I knew that something was up and figured that’s what had happened. Not realizing what was going on, he kept trying to mountain bike farther up the Colorado Trail, though with diminishing returns. The big patches of snow that remained on the trail, even though it was June, were probably a good thing since they ultimately stopped us and prevented us from riding any further. His disrupted mental and physical state likely made the retreat more palatable to the 13-year-old, since he wasn’t prone to turning around before his goal was reached.
The race is on.
Spin the pedals,
Faster, faster.
Time is of the essence.
Reach the forest first,
Gotta make them chase.
Hide the pain,
That’s on my face.
Take the inside lines,
Make passing tight,
No time for crashes,
Show no fright.
Spin the pedals,
Faster, faster.
Time is of the essence.
Push the pace,
Stay in the lead.
Heart is pounding,
Keep up my speed.
I cannot crack.
Must maintain edge.
See big root,
And watch for the ledge.
Spin the pedals,
Faster, faster.
Time is of the essence.
It’s okay to breathe loudly.
Ride the rut.
Must miss the tree,
Can’t feel my butt.
Getting thirsty,
And hungry, too.
Now, I creep,
Before, I flew.
Spin the pedals,
Faster, faster.
Time is of the essence.
I hate to ride,
I’m sure I do.
These times of pain,
Are surely through.
But then,
I cross the finish line,
And the race is done.
I love my bike,
I had so much fun.
Audio Version:
The names of the two trails do an excellent job of describing them in a few short words- The Puke Loop and The Meatgrinder. Their heydays of being a few open and pleasantly flowing pieces of path connecting extended sections of tight turns, horrendously steep climbs, and complicated descents have long passed. But the unfortunately angled roots, cactus, poorly placed rocks, and riding/hiking/trail running memories endure. 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, some think of mountain biking the Puke Loop whenever they find themselves hugging a commode.
Continue reading “The Meatgrinder and the Puke Loop, A Few Years Later”
Rolling,
Flowing,
Spinning,
Floating.
Down,
Across,
Up,
Over.
Gripping,
Braking,
Screaming,
Breathing.
Squeeze,
Push,
Lean,
Feel.
Gasping,
Hacking,
Hurting,
Snorting.
Relax,
Look,
Focus,
Squeal.
Shifting,
Laughing,
Weaving,
Grinning.
Hot,
Cold,
Thirsty,
Hungry,
Guessing,
Feeling,
Hoping,
And always thinking.
Audio Version:
There’s a limit to the number of times your bike pedals will turn in your lifetime.
So, make them count.
Whoosh,
Damp and soft.
Fresh,
Smooth and fast.
Rolling,
Clean and free.
Feeling,
Strong and loose.
Leaves,
Yellow or red.
Trees,
Aspens, oaks, and pines.
Climb,
Up and onward.
Time,
Grinding and frozen.
Rocks,
Somehow over the top.
Ledges
That make you pucker.
Spin,
Faster, not harder.
Win,
Whatever that is.
Down,
Flowing and momentum.
Sound,
Silent, but alive.
Effort,
Easy or intense.
Curves,
Sweeping and weaving,
Turns,
Expect the unexpected.
Feel the trail
With your mind.
Adrenaline, fatigue, happy, and sad.
Confident, regret, proud, and glad.
Satisfied, worried, joy, and mad.
The destination– often unknown.
But no matter,
Cause the best rides never end.
Audio Version:
Water,
Sand,
Snow,
And rock.
Fly fish,
Cycle,
Ride,
And walk
Gravel,
Grass,
Mud,
And scree.
Backpack,
Wander,
Scale,
And ski.
Mountain,
Cavern,
Dirt,
And ice.
Explore,
Trek,
Cave,
And climb.
Talus,
Forest,
Stream,
And crag.
Summit
Surf,
Sail,
And cast.
Tundra,
River,
Lake,
And hill.
Yoga,
Swim,
Camp,
And chill.
Ocean,
Desert,
Cirque,
And peak.
Prepare,
Proceed,
Persist,
And Seek.
Simple,
Treasures,
Pure,
And sweet.
Audio Version:
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