Colorado Trip... Day 3 (Strand Hill)

The night before when we started to fire up the cook-top for some tea, we noticed there wasn't much more than a sputter of flame.  Upon inspection of the propane tank level, we learned it was dead empty.  In hindsight we should have started fresh after the NorCal trip, but that didn't much matter now.  The choice was made to turn the fridge to 12V in hopes that things would stay cool until the tank could be filled the next morning.  At 2AM the warning alarm for dead battery went off and the trailer was officially out of juice.

With our trailer reduced to not much more than a heavy tent on wheels, the decision was made to pack it up and tow it with us to the trailhead for the ride we wanted to do before leaving Crested Butte. Micki needed a bit more rest and Mousse and I needed to find out how far this forgotten trail from camp actually went.  Already used to the new morning ritual of a long hike straight out the front door, the dog gleefully sprinted across the dusty road and jumped over the embankment into the nothingness of tall, leafy green... parting the way until she met the trail.  We made it much further than before, well past the narrow section where I had slipped and eventually crossing a side creek where she lapped up the fresh chilled water.  The trail went from established to nothingness once we came into a meadow and further route finding was abandoned due to time spent already.  I did find one more new flower though!

Yet another of the seemingly endless variety:

View back down to the valley:

Mousse strolling along:

We were able to save breakfast by boiling water on our smaller reserve camp stove.  The flies were mellower than yesterday, but starting to pickup a bit.  We broke down the trailer quickly while the tired dog made every attempt possible to get in the back seat of the HiHy. With everything buttoned up, bikes loaded and Mousse laying down in the back seat we were off.  Shortly we came across another deer with all the stubbornness of the cow we had seen the day prior.  There it stood, steadfast in the middle of the road with no interest what so ever as to getting out of the way.  We didn't mind though, we neat to see such an animal some 10' off the front bumper.  The hesitation however raised the dogs interest and all it took was a few short warning huffs through the open window and the deer was off and running.

More than a few cyclist were riding up this road in the opposite direction.  Most seem very ill prepared for the CO back country with no obvious signs of gear or water.  Knowing where this road went, we could only assume they were confused, lost or perhaps considered pedaling up this 2WD dirt road to be an actual "mountain biking" adventure. Our hope was they'd find some singletrack before their vacation to Crested Butte was over and we rolled by slowly to keep the dust from adding difficulty to their already laboring lungs.

With the trailer dead, we stopped at the first "Gas-N-Go" we saw for some ice.  It was immediately apparent that this particular location was heavily favored by the locals.  I was the cleanest looking guy in there, and this was after 2 days of riding. I definitely felt like and outsider as the glazed eyes assessed my lack of "bro-ness" and was pretty much dismissed by all inside.  A sign by the counter had a hand written list titled "FAQ's".  Most of the answers involved how to find popular tourist locations or where to park, but the fourth item down informed me where the closest place would be to get a medicinal marijuana license.  Evidently there were a lot of people in bad health visiting Crested Butte and this awareness made me really count my blessings.

Paying an exorbitant fee for the tiny bag of ice at the register, I noticed that the magazine department behind the counter had been divided into three distinct categories.  The first tier was devoted to mountain biking, with such soulful literature as "Dirt Rag", "Mountain Flyer" and "Bike".  Below that was a broad selection in the theme of "High Times" with "hydroponics" written in bold on most of the covers. The final row at floor level was of course... shall we say.. adult orientated publications. The smell of egg and bacon hung thick in the air from the grill to my right as my receipt was handed to me over the tip jar, tastefully decorated with a picture of one of Tiger Woods mistresses with the caption "Tiger put his tip in me, why don't you?"  Stellar.

With cooler now freshly frozen, we drove back out to where the Canal Trail dumped onto Brush Creek road.  As motivated as the dog is, the length of ride we had planned was just a bit to far for her weary legs, so instead we setup the trailer awning to create a rather fancy shaded doghouse in the soft grass.

Luxurious diggs:

This trail was the final leg of our journey from yesterdays Teocalli Ridge ride, so we knew there was a water crossing almost right away.  I had pedaled through it yesterday and Micki was looking forward to giving it a try on this ride. Much to our surprise, the water level had risen substantially which made riding across impossible and even wading across a bit sketchy.

Water level day before:

Water level about 16 hours later (opposite bank, looking back):

I guess the "Canal Trail" gained it's name from this service waterway which was more than likely controlled by the ranchers in the valley.  This fluctuation must make for a surprise every time this trail is ridden. But that just adds to the adventure I suppose.  Once across we started back on the singletrack which seems to descend in both directions.  We could see Teocalli Ridge in the distance separated by seemingly endless meadows to the foothills. Soon enough we found the turn to "Strand Hill" and took a right.  The climb got steeper and the sun more intense across the open fields.  Our legs started to remember the previous days of climbing and it was a bit of a struggle to reach the aspen forest above.  Once back under the canopy of trees the singletrack mellowed and snaked lazily through the grove.

Micki in the greenery:

A choice was now made to keep the ride a bit shorter and not add the "Ferris Hill" loop option in addition to "Strand Hill".  So up the old doubletrack we went.  Much rockier now in sections, this climb was a grind.  Lots of standing for me to keep up momentum, but still rocking the 33/22 ratio was helping me recover much easier in the thin air.

22 tooth cog... how my tired legs love thee:

We caught up with some other riders who where nice enough to be holding open a gate for their last in line.  Soon we made the trailhead which would supposedly lead us down some amazing singletrack. Speaking for us both, I know we were ready for some descending... even though we hadn't covered many miles yet this morning.

Final up:

Turn here:

From here things just went downhill... literally.  Sweeping corners, fluid speed and banked turns all worked together to keep wheels moving swiftly down the mountain.  A few rocky sections here and there kept my rigid forks attention with the occasional steep chute only adding to the excitement.  Meadows whizzed by and blurred back into the ash white aspens.  Short ups here and there mandated the rider not gear to high, if gear selection was even an option.

Deep woods:

     

The bombing session past far to quickly and before we knew it we had met back with the start.  A second lap was considered, but with a long drive still ahead of us and darkened skies approaching we opted for the quick route back.

Cloud cover:

Up to my knees:

Mousse was happy to see us as a herd of cows started to stroll towards the high green grass of our chosen parking spot.  Bordering on the verge of aggression, these docile green fiends kept pushing forward eventually surrounding the front of the HiHy.  Another cyclist tried to feed them, while the bravest one even started to lick the bumper of our SUV!  Very odd, very odd indeed.

Here's the beef:

Motorized salt lick:

With the herd moving around us, we loaded up and headed out of town.  We stopped at the Pizza Hut in Gunnison for some food.  It had started to rain off and on but the skies looked like they were starting to clear a bit. We decided to drive to Durango and ride some of the Hermosa Creek trail the next morning before returning to the sweltering heat of home.  That particular route was been well traveled by Sticki and is always looked forward to.  From the tiny mountain town of Ouray to the exposed roads beyond.  Endless eye candy can be found almost everywhere one decided to look. Micki even saw yet another doe and fawn walking along the side of the road but a missed setting on the camera only captured the tail end of the sighting.

So close, yet so blurred:

We saw a heard of sheep at almost this same spot in the road during a previous trip. Guess we'll need to keep the camera ready for the next time through.  Durango came fairly quickly after, with little mountain traffic to be found on a Sunday. Micki navigated to the Hermosa Creek trailhead and much to her surprise the parking area had been reworked to allow camping.  With most spots still available, we ended up popping the trailer directly across from the start of singletrack.  This would allow us to clip in and ride straight from the door tomorrow, which was exciting for all my years exploring the world on a mountain bike this would be my first true ride in Durango. This statement may sound ridiculous considering the mecca Durango is known to be, but there had always been a better place to go, or at least colder and I just never had the opportunity to roll here... until now.  

The trailer was fully opened up and a neighbors dog stopped by the visit.  A mutt, but one seemingly assembled in Frankenstein's lab.  It had the full size and easily recognizable head of a Labrador Retriever, but this had seemingly been grafted onto the body of a Basset hound.  It was friendly enough and Mousse enjoyed the playful company. We called Andooke for a more thorough 12HR race recap while we ate our dinner.  Soon the sun started to fade and after a short walk with the dog we called it a day.  It was obvious the temps weren't going to drop much further and we had the rare enjoyment of falling asleep with nothing but screen around us.

The Stats:

Riders: Micki and me

Distance: 6 miles

Elevation: 1000 foot gain

Ride time: just under an hour

Colorado Trip... Day 2 (Teocalli Ridge)

Up again... with a tad more dawn gone by.  Doggy gets a little slower as days pass and her activity level increases. Shoes on feet, jacket on back and out the door we go, again crossing the road and this time on a mission.  We'll see where this forgotten trail might lead, and take a ton of flower pictures along the way.  Won't be to hard, the mountain is literally carpeted with them.  Mousse has an amazing sense of trail and even when things get faint she finds the right track to take.  I just have to follow along knowing when I fall to far behind she'll generally bound back to check on my status.  The steepness of the terrain soon has me shedding layers.  Camping at over 10,000 feet it's hard to believe how mild it is even before the sun reaches full strength.

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:

Up and up, this section was the killer it had been made out to be.  The carbon spewing wheeled wonders just before us had kept things loose and dusty.  There were occasional rests which Micki was able to take advantage of.  I needed more recovery than they provided, but had made everything so far.  This result was much better than I had anticipated and the excitement brought with this realization brought some extra power to my legs.

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