Dawn came and moments later the dog sprung from her slumber, landing with heavy feet on the floor. Hard to tell what makes the most noise, her excited whimper or raging tail slapping the bell like steel cover of the small heater. Regardless, sleep is not an option and I fumble to find my shoes. With memories of Nor-Cal still fresh in our camping minds, we didn't have to much hope for the spot we found. As I swung open the door, we were instantly reminded as to why Colorado is king. A vast valley of green lay before us. Crested Butte itself rising up at the far end. Flowers were everywhere and even though the terrain lacked mighty trees, it was carpeted in a mosaic of color ranging from china white to burning red. Mousse was sprinting ear deep in the high grass. Only a wagging tale and occasional bobbing head revealed her position. We crossed the road and found a forgotten piece of singletrack leading up the hill.
Right outside the door:
The plan for the day was to meet some friends of our and ride Trail 401. This was an area we had ridden before, but would be new to the others. For those who are not aware, T401 is one of the most amazing sections of singletrack known. I can't imagine it ever getting boring, but it was always fun to see it through fresh eyes. Calls and texts were made, breakfast was prepared and cycling gear assembled. As we stood outside soaking in our surroundings, we noticed some movement behind the camper. Maybe thirty yards away was a doe chomping away. She looked in our direction, but seemed to take little notice of our observation. Strolling along, it was soon apparent that she was far from alone. Hard to tell for sure in the tall grass, but two if not three wobbly fawn were traveling with her. Each one showing off their brown coats with speckled spots. We were able to watch them for several minutes as Mousse was preoccupied with her own in depth sniffing investigations closer to the road. This place was amazing.
We drove over to the hotel where Cindy was staying and Tom showed up with Dana soon after. They had driven over from Telluride and were already impressed with the awesome scenery Crested Butte had to offer. We all drove out the dirt road past Gothic, found some parking and got ready to ride. The sun was strong but temps not so bad. Mousse was going to wait in the car and Dana was going to head to another trailhead for additional exploration. The four of us that remained clipped in and starting pedaling farther down the 2WD road towards the T401 trailhead. This was the route I took with Micki and a couple other friends a few years back just after my 2 year hiatus from cycling brought about from my Toyota rock crawling phase.
I didn't make the climb that year.
Then last year we had also returned with Andooke only to learn the road was blocked. We climbed up T401 instead which would have been great had my Shimano freehub not exploded about a mile into the ride. This resulted in about a 5 mile push up the mountain and ended up with me missing a corner on the way down, and Andy taking an involuntary swim in a very deep and cold creek at the end.
Andy's claim of poor hand signaling by yours truly is still under debate.
But all of that was now water under the bridge (so to speak), and the three of us were making good time up the hill. Unfortunately, it was not three of us that started but four instead. Tom was experiencing a bit more strain than the rest of us trying to pedal his longer travel and heavier bicycle up the road. He was moving along just fine though, and with a few regroups we were getting very close to the top.
Lake along the way:
The "easy" part of the climb:
A few more corners and the exit to T401 revealed itself. Micki and I had never ridden the road up without some sort of snow section requiring a portage. It was nice to ride the route uninterrupted so far, and hopes were high that this would bode well for the usually damp singletrack section soon approaching.
The saddle:
With some powering up through various nutritional supplements, we started onto the singletrack. Terrain gets steep quick, and for the most part does not relent. Air feels thin and even though traction is good lack of breath forces us to yield again and again to recoup. With trees for cover, it becomes easier to really push the level of exertion. Each switchback we get closer to what makes this trail almost to good to be true. With the elevation gain trees thin and meadows start to dominate. The views increase but weary legs and screaming lungs rarely give the luxury of taking it all in.
Hardest "mellow" slope I have ever felt:
Micki climbing and smiling (is there any other way for her?):
Micki and I:
Cindy and Micki (the Pivot twins):
Tom grunting it out, flat pedals and all:
After this meadow the trail gives a choice. To the left will provide a better view of the Maroon Bells, but a wilderness boundary soon demands those with ribber tires go no further. To the right is the way back down the valley. The section of trail that T401 is most famous for and what we couldn't wait to show our friends and ride again ourselves. Tom broke out a sweet potato in a bag and after offering some to the rest of us with mixed results... we snapped a few more pics and got ready to roll again.
The group (Tom and I were super coordinated with outfit selections):
Only one simple word (possibly borrowed from The Rundown) is all that is really needed to describe the next section.
BOOMSHACKALACKA !!!!
But since I like to write, I'll through in a few more for good measure. Flowey, dusty, curvey, edgey, carvey, twisty, bendy, rolley, downy. This section rocks. It rocks hard. It rocks long. It rocks beyond the written word, so here are some pics worth several thousand of them.
T401 is mind blowing! No matter what bike, no matter what physical condition and no matter what level of technical prowess. Nothing can bring it down. Not even if you are going at what you consider a fairly good clip and your girlfriend riding your ass asks you whats wrong and why are you going so slow. Nope, not even that can tarnish the trail. Its always rewarding, always to good to be true... and always over way to quickly.
Back at the car we were greeted by a lazy Mousse and a not so lazy Dana. She had found a trail on her own closer to town which gave her plenty of Crested Butte experience, which was good to hear. With hunger dictating priority, most of us headed into town. All except Cindy, who had decided it was her mission to become mother of the year and retrieve a grind rail she had spotted during the ride up. She was off with the mini-van in search of her prize while the rest of us headed into town to find some food.
We found a place we had eaten before to be as inviting as usual. Teocalli Tamale was not only fun to say but a joy to visit as well. Definitely decorated with a local vibe, framed "closed for powder day" signs were proudly displayed on the walls. Making sure patron understood the staff's priorities, and we all could respect that. Burritos were ordered, then promptly consumed. We got an update from Cindy and learned that the grind rail was far beyond both her own as well as mini-vans physical abilities. It would have to be abandoned but the effort alone was sure to move her closer to "UberMom" status. With bellies full we walked the town a bit and then said farewell to Tom and Dana. They still had a drive back to Telluride to complete, but seemed very satisfied they had made the trip over. Crested Butte rarely disappoints.
The drive back to camp was quick and even though the sun was strong with all the windows unzipped the trailer is surprisingly comfortable. Micki set up her chair and touched base with Logan. Mousse lounged around raising her head on occasion to give a snap of her jaw to the occasional fly. I was feeling a bit restless and with the day starting to fade, I decided to get back in the saddle and search for one more trail in the area.
Trail 403
Evidently, this trail was just up the road and could somehow loop over the pass and back down to Gothic, about were we started T401 earlier in the day. With visions of being able to create a Crested Butte "super-epic" sometime during a return travel, I just had to put this piece of the puzzle into my mental inventory. A few pedal strokes into the ride and I knew I wasn't going to have the time or strength for the entire section, but figured I'd go see what I could see none the less.
Of course, my luck with second rides hasn't been so great as of late. The simplest of routes has been turning out to be real lung busting efforts. This ride was to be no exception. Almost immediately the dirt road went from steep, to steeper to steepest to ridiculous. I stopped, rested, g rinded and struggled. I saw a few more deer laughing at my efforts from the shade, and then a marmot with baby clinging to it's back started howling in delight watching me flounder in her back yard. Just around the next corner I saw a strange structure. Was it art, was it function, was it... a grind rail?
Wooden rainbow:
I placed those wondering on the back burner as I crested finally to a relent in the grade. There was a structure of to the right with something rusty next to it. I used the excuse for further exploration and took a short detour with no more climbing involved. It was a mine, and an old truck. Locked together in the eternal partnership of neglect due to their now profitless existence. But the bully marmot who had claimed this place as it's own didn't seem to fear my approach.
Truck with a view:
Rusty peak:
Eye to the soul:
Back on the bike I appeared to be headed towards one final climb as the ridge line seemed to be tapering off to my right. The strange arch was closer now and as breath escaped me yet another stop allowed me to take a better photo of the structure.
Snowboardey:
Wasn't much use to anyone now, but easy to imagine how much fun it might be once the snow level rose. Probably a local hangout with access limited to all but those with strong legs or fast snowmobiles. Just around the corner was the T403 trailhead. The light was fading almost as fast as my legs, but I headed up none the less. First section was an old road with yet another abandoned mine to be found on the right.
Rust love:
Sticky links:
Up I went, marmots warning each other of my approach. The old road faded into double track and with almost orchestral precision blended perfectly into pure singletrack around the next bend.
Two shall become one:
One shall become perfection:
The trail had one relentless pitch seemingly wishing to take travelers straight up to the heavens. Thankfully a hidden sweep right relented the grade and I was able to make my way through a few awkward ditches. I made it to a saddle and my best guess beyond was all downhill into Gothic. This was a distance I could not explore for now, and instead turned back to enjoy the downhill I had just earned. I came across a set of chairs just off trail that I had missed on the way up. The inscription stated they had been left in memory, and I was happy to take a rest and enjoy the view provided.
Self seated:
Seated view:
All that was left to do now was make it back to the trailer before the "start to worry deadline". Confident in my descending prowess, I took the time to smell the flowers... or at least capture a few on digital media.
Color framed:
Backlit Columbine:
Almost stained glass:
Sun fading, trail and road blurring beneath me. Final corner and I see "home" just below.
Picture for scale of the grandeur:
Zoom to find:
Mousse came bounding around the trailer, letting Micki know I was back safe. We had grilled veggies and pasta while the last of the suns rays slipped behind the surrounding peaks. In the dusk we watched several deer prance along the meadow. GPS tracks were loaded, daily record created and as we drifted off the coyotes began to sing once more. Strange to think of coyotes living at 10,000 feet plus... but the dog didn't even lift an ear this time.
The Stats:
Ride Number One
Riders: Micki, Cindy, Tom and Elvota
Distance: 13 miles
Elevation: 2050 feet of climbing
Ride time: close to 3 hours
Ride Number Two
Riders: Elvota
Distance: 5 miles
Elevation: 1075 feet of climbing
Ride time: just over 1 hour
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