On to the pics. I of course am no horticulturist, but feel free post up some names in the comments if you figure them out. Remember, the scroll bar is your friend if macro flower shots do not appeal.
Quickly the campsite was lost below and when the terrain flattened out the valley walls started to tighten up. Soon we were clinging to the edge and the trail hadn't much more than a foot left to it before it was simply reclaimed by the elements. My furry brown companion didn't seem to notice the exposure as she ran back and forth investigating all she could. At one point I slipped trying to cross a particularly narrow eroded section. As I slid down the steep bank wondering were I might stop, I thought for a moment about whether or not Mousse would be smart enough to go for help. That question was resolved very quickly however as my loyal, but somewhat mentally slow buddy almost jumped onto my shoulders in an effort to follow me down this fun slide. Trying to hold her and stop my self made things interesting, but a section tapered to flat in just enough time and allowed a safe although far from graceful stop. Dog was panting, smiling, and then scrambled back up the hill to the trail leaving me in her dust. I began to wonder if I had made the best footwear selection for the adventure.
My off road slippers:
Hauling myself back up to the trail we went a bit further until things got mucky. Fearing my wonder clogs might get sucked clean off my feet and force me to descend in woolly socks alone, I made the executive decision to turn around. With a short whistle, Mousse new the drill and streaked back towards me.
Running is funning:
Back at camp, Micki was starting to move about and get ready for the day. I wandered around a bit more below were we parked and came across one of my other favorite things to take pictures of besides flowers and rust... skulls!!
Moooooo:
How we are built:
During breakfast, the fear of trying Teocalli Ridge on my singlespeed began to confuse and almost overwhelm me. We had both been reading trail descriptions and time and time again the climbing portion was being mentions as steep. Incredibly steep. Almost unmakeably steep. Being that all of these riders had access to gears, I just wasn't sure what today might bring. So, I flinched and swapped out my 21 tooth rear cog for a 22 tooth. For today and today alone I'd be running a 33/22 ratio. Oh the shame.
Cheater cheater pumpkin eater:
The Rennen aluminum SS cog. Bad ass in every way. And now while writing this BLOG and finding the link to their products I am to learn they come in colors other than black. Oh the sweetness, how can I resist thee. I might just need a gold 21t version very soon. But I digress.
We pulled out the awning from the trailer and set the dog up in the shade with her water. She flopped down in the greenery, still not quite sure what to make of such soft and fragrant filled surroundings. Car loaded, bikes on top and we were off to conquer the next epic route Crested Butte had to offer up.
There are many options for this ride. Most of which are designed to add mileage, but most of that is gained from standard 2WD dirt road riding. Being the singletrack fiends we are, the road section was skipped and we chose to park at the "Y" junction of Brush Creek and West Brush Creek. We would learn later that parking at the exit from Canal Trail would be the best choice... but we'll plan for that on return trips. Without a cloud in the sky the sun felt stronger than yesterday. Perhaps it was the increased temps or our new location, but the flies were out in force. These flies weren't your ordinary AZ nuisance variety. No, these buzzers were slow, easy to swat and flat out dumb. The only catch was they bit and they bit hard. Trying to keep them off you while getting ready was an impossibly frustrating task and the only resolution we came up with was to move faster and getting pedaling pronto.
Starting point:
I record time we were rolling. The first hill is a walloper. Right off the bat you are headed straight up with little warning or time to get limber. I immediately knew the right decision had been made in regards to my gearing, but even with the gear inch reduction I was still struggling.
Micki digging in:
At the first rest point, Micki realized in the fly escaping haste she had forgotten her water bottle. With only straight water from her Camelback, concerns were raced as to how well this ride might go. Both anxious to keep moving, we hope for the best and started to ascend into the rolling valley beyond.
Onward and upward:
Soon we made the shade of the trees. Aspens groves started to pop up here and there and below us to the right water played amongst the rocks. The grade lessened and even the occasional down was experience. The valley walls got steeper and closer and it became obvious that our task was going to be a route out the end. We began to conserve for what lay ahead.
Aspens watching Micki roll on by:
Big creek crossing:
From whence we came:
Splish-splashing:
The road began to show less signs of vehicular use and the undulating two track began to force choices upon us. It was hard to decipher the language at first. Which lane made more sense, choosing a course with less sand, less rock, less steep. It became obvious that it made little difference where your tires were directed because the grade was getting closer to vertical with every pedal stroke. We were beginning to struggle and then we saw it. The route we had been working towards. A faint yet defined dirt line crossing midway along the mountain just in front of us. That part looked aggressive. Looked almost unclimbable. All the trail descriptions we had read and ears we had bent for information started to make sense.
Far from effortless:
Grinding up, stopping for air and traction, we finally made it to T557, Teocalli Ridge. The sounds of four strokes were coming up quick and unsure of their allowable direction of travel, we decided to wait before we began to attack the singletrack.
And now it begins:
Skinny goodness:
Leading up:
Micki got her second wind once of the road and spun like the "Mama Goat" she is. Balance, poise, finesse, control, all descriptors of her fluid climbing style. I was envious as I stood up, slipped, powered, sawed and twisted my way up behind her. This 22t cog was a lifesaver, assuming of course that a singlespeed rig had any business what so ever attempting this trail. Much to my surprise I was finding traction and with that the ability to keep moving forward. I had to stop more often to catch my breath than Micki, but having to keep speed higher for momentum between rests was letting me stay in pace with Micki.
View back down:
Flowery:
There she goes:
Even higher now:
It's just so hard to capture how green and vast Crested Butte is. It's also a bit hard to look around without sending yourself careening down the low side with such exposure. Eventually the trail leaves the meadows and heads back into the trees. Maybe it's the lack of rain reaching the ground provided by the tree cover or the addition of soil fortification with roots running deep and strong. Whatever the cause, the singletrack gets even more aggressive in terms of pitch. Nothing but torque and willpower will keep one rolling here. But after some extreme efforts, we made the saddle.
Bingo... cresting the lip:
Again from what we had heard we knew that the majority of the climb was over but a few more slopes were left to keep us honest. A quick consult of the map, some fuel and we were rolling again. The trail now was pure and grooved. The climbs had the occasional thick root but mostly buffed out. One section was so heavily eroded that my guess is even our carbon powered two wheeled brethren may have been challenged by the ascent. Admittedly, we had to cry uncle and walk a few yards her, although Micki did complete a magnificently impossible restart about 2/3'rds of the way up. Just beyond the summit seemed to appear. A break in the trees provided a view far below off the red cliff edge.
That was easy:
Just us:
We could only stop briefly as the flies were still relentless and had been from the start. I suppose this constant biting motivation helped drive us forward, although I think the trail was hard enough without the additional torment. Our best guess was made that we were looking to descend from this point forward and with a quick drop of the seat, Micki was ready to rock... and so was I.
Not really knowing much more about the Crested Butte area than what we had already experience on T401, I wasn't expecting anything to severe. I mean, that trail is all about flow, and my best guess was this would be the same. First tree filled corner, heavy arching drop into a stream bed and then a straight up face wall back out. It was black, dark, angry and amazingly didn't stop me. I think I was as shocked as Micki when I heard her inquire as to how the hell I made it through that part. I had no answer... it was all instinct. We knew this trail wasn't going to just lay down and let us have our way with it. Our helmets were snugged up a bit more and knuckles flexed harder around the grips.
Rocks, roots, steeps and ruts all started to flash by. This singletrack demanded attention and respect. But it rewarded those that took the challenge with speed and flow although be it a bit more broken down. Soon we were screaming along into another grove of aspen. The trail was now deeply grooved into the side-slope with no escape or exit options. It was stay up and balanced or go down hard. It was steep enough to bring flashbacks of secret trails in Vail we had hit years before, only then we had over half a foot of travel and were safely viewing the route behind full face protection. There really wasn't much time to reminisce however. Forearms screamed as brakes tried their best to keep things in check. Just when you thought you'd loose all control over gravities pull, things leveled out and we rolled to a stop... grinning ear to ear.
Finally flat:
We could literally smell our brakes burning below us. Heat waves blurred off our rotors blurred the leafy green around them. It was wicked fun and we were hungry for more. The aspens ended soon after and back into a sunny meadow we were flung. The trail was easy to see for a further distance now and speeds increased dramatically. Narrow lines made even tighter by the encroaching thick plant life. Switchbacks sprung up without warning but the bermed dirt from users before gave tires a firm grip, allowing for deep leans through the corners. Before we knew it, we were out. Back to a 2WD dirt road and a choice to be made. We could see the car below, but also understood that some additional singletrack remained according to the map. With water low, heat increasing and flies still trying their best to ruin the day... the additional trail option was selected.
Almost right away we were met with the deepest and strongest water crossing of the day. Unrideable for sure, but my guess is Andy would have tried it anyway. We came across some people with a curiously green in color dog. The owner asked us if we were looking to adopt a mutt. A strange question indeed until she explained that her four legged friend had thought it wise to run ahead and roll in huge piles of cow manure, which of course happened to be green. Bizzarity explained, we portaged across.
Real CO mountain biking:
Back on trail, things got great again. Windy and more technical now, we even found ourselves rolling down a South Mountainesque boulder section. The forest was dense and tree cover above heavy. Felt good to get a break from the sun.
Wild rose:
Natures geometry:
The trail now opened up again. We noticed an option to the left marked "Strand Hill" and made a mental note. Perhaps we could explore this next time. Terrain changed back to flat and rolling with a predominant downhill bias. Was looking to be a great finish to the days ride.
We were on that ridge over her right shoulder:
Final stream crossing:
The road again soon arrived. This is were would should have actually parked, and will next time. That said, we simply had to loop back about a half mile to the car. The problematic flies were just waiting for us to stop of course, so the car load was lightning fast.
Back in town we found some pizza. Micki was unimpressed, but I was just plain hungry. Afterwards we shopped a bit, looking for a souvenir or two with a hope for some "cute" earrings. No luck, but we happened to find a tea shop with offerings much to Micki's approval. A iced chai with soy was slid across the counter into her happily anxious hand. We overheard a conversation amongst some of the other patrons regarding the heat wave that was currently oppressing this small mountain town. 83 degrees was he temperature... we sure weren't in Scottsdale anymore. We then stopped by the grocery store where Micki improved her beverage luck even further by locating some sort of super drink with quiona being its primary ingredient. Super awesome! I just settled for some Gatorade and we were off to camp.
Micki caught up with Andooke about their 12 hour race the night before. We were happy to hear the event went well and were reminded of our participation the year previous. We had considered trying it again this year, but Crested Butte took priority. Just before we left the asphalt we saw a cow starting to cross the road. This in itself was no big deal as we were still some distance away, but for the group of girls riding their bikes down the other way this was to be a major dilemma. They all stopped and giggling to each other were trying to decide what to do about this cow directly blocking their forward progress. Soon good 'Ol cod chewing Bessy made up her mind to finish the crossing and we all were able to go about our merry ways.
Even though Mousse had plenty of water, shade and a comfortable place to lay... the flies had found her as well. As she rose they clouded around her face, obviously had been bothering her for some time. This was a situation we had not encountered before in Crested Butte or anywhere else, but with a quick brush of the hand she was cleaned off and we all retreated inside to escape them. We were all happy to be away from the flies and unzipping all the windows wound down the remainder of the afternoon with a cool bugless breeze passing through.
Just before dinner, we drove back up to T403 and took a short hike. Mousse was excited to explore even more terrain and soon we were past the old mine I had seen the day before. One tough SOB of a marmot was perched steadfast upon a rock overlooking the trail. He chirped like a fire alarm running low on batteries as we walked by, obviously invading his territory.
Don't push me:
The goal was to make the chairs again... and that we accomplished. Of course, there was still enough time to capture some more flowers along the way.
Micki sits:
Mousse tries her best to be still:
We made it to camp just before dusk, ate some burritos and recapped the day. Across the field our neighborhood deer and fawns could be seen having their dinner as well. With darkness came the coyotes once more.
The Stats:
Riders: Micki and me
Distance: 13 miles
Elevation: 2675 feet of gain
Ride time: close to 3 hours
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