#61 - Where, Could That Girl Have Gone?
Dear Dubrovnik,
When I last left off, I was preparing to embark on a trip to go westward, and I’m happy to report I made it back more or less in one piece with a few unexpected friends and mishaps along the way.
I had originally rolled the dice on a couple of locations to go mountain biking for a week, and in the end Fruita, CO turned out to be the location with an opening on a trip that took care of all of the details down to the helmets, tangerines for snacks, and bike pedals. A couple of the fellas in my ‘Old Man Bike Group’ had suggested Western Spirit as a great company to work with as far as all the details being included and arranged for you, and while I was apprehensive at first, this ended up being an amazing treat for myself.
After such a tumultuous year, the idea of handing over the reins of planning to anyone else was beyond appealing. So, with just a couple of weeks to go, I reserved my spot, booked my flights and hotels, and got to gravel grinding the loop by my house as frequently as the snow squalls would allow.
It was the first time I’d traveled in what felt like forever, especially where I’d typically done a trip or two per year for the last eight or nine years. But all said, the routine or travel felt invigorating, even though it was a bit more monotonous with the constraints of COVID. Oddly enough, my trip didn’t start out as planned, where the day I was set to fly out, I’d happened to sign up for text alerts (which I never do,) and thankfully did. I got an alert a couple of hours before my flight saying my plane was going to be late, and I’d miss all my connections, but if I could get to the airport in 50 minutes, I could catch an earlier flight. So, by some miracle of Uber, I was able to make the new flight and all my connections as well.
Three or four, or five flights later I landed in sleepy little Grand Junction and found my way to my hotel with enough time to repack, realize the time change was in my favor and that my clocks weren’t wrong, and turn in for my last night sleep in a bed for a while.
The next morning, I woke early to take advantage of breakfast and noticed a few other folks in biking gear (though I wasn’t sure how big biking was in the area,) and they turned out to be in my group for the week. All in all, there were six of us total, three guests Laura, Bradley and, I, and three guides (one in training to be a guide,) Tina, Matt, and Caitlin. A great name might I add, and great numbers for us! They said often the groups are as large as 10-15 patrons per two guides, so we all felt lucky for the size and elbow room in the van.
The guides were all in their twenties and thirties, and the other folks on the trip were a little older but no less vivacious and fun to have along. We set out for the adventure ahead, driving for a while along I-70 to get to our starting place. There were some strange sites, including man-made ditch/ ponds that appeared to be used for water sports, and active fires being set to clear brush from dried waterways (we were told this was in the event of a fire, there would still be a route for water to be dispersed.) Eventually, we pulled off to a side road parking lot to start The Zion Curtain Trail, specifically the Kokopelli Trail.
We made our lunches and packed water and snacks along with clothes for inclement weather and set off with Caitlin and Tina heading Westward parallel to I-70.
This trail started out wrapping us up some big hillsides and cliffs eventually dumping us into miles of wide-open, barren fields where cattle roamed freely, and gates were to be left as they were found (open, or closed.) We learned quickly that our group was all paced quite similarly for each other, which proved tremendously useful for the days ahead. For us three guests, the heat was a lot, and we found ourselves tucking into the shade when possible, and fully taking advantage of our 3L of water, and bottles of bland-tasting electrolyte powder.
Though we were aided by our van to carry all of our longer-term needs, we carried our food, water, and change of clothes, etc with us in our backpacks as we only saw the van in the morning, and once we got to our next camp in the evening.
After a short break under an overpass, we crossed from Colorado into Utah where we’d spend the next couple of days, spotting our first coveted ‘triple’ which was later in the trip viewed as something to make a wish upon. (This was simply a Fed-Ex, or UPS truck, or any tractor-trailer that was hauling not, one, or two, but THREE trailer beds.) Our guides reported that driving past these ‘truck trains’ on the highway was as frightening as you’d imagine, but given the straight long hauls across the middle states, it just makes sense to add on more. After a lunch tucked among some low shrubs (no trees in this climate) we started to wind our way back up through orange rock canyons, careful to avoid the soil crusts and lichens which take hundreds of years to grow their networks, and only moments to destroy.
Below you can see the topo and elevation for our treks which let us up and down the edges of some rather large, exposed ridgelines. One of two of these such ridges had been struck by lighting as evident by charred scrub brush and blackened grasses.
Day 1: The Zion Curtain Trail, Kokopelli Trail, 16.2 miles
This was a long day, but nothing too strenuous as we took breaks often, and stopped even more frequently to take in the scenery which was in stark contrast to the snowy landscapes of the East Coast where we three guests had fled from.
We encountered some downhills so steep we skittered down the trail standing beside our bikes, and some uphills just as steep that caused laughter at the abrupt halts that questioned “hum… how do I get up there?”
With only a couple of miles left, we reunited with our third guide Matt who had been setting up camp ahead of us. He joined us just in time to replace Bradley’s popped tire (the first of many on our journey) and for our last crawling ascent to camp on top of the mesa, where we were pleasantly surprised to find out tents and belongings laid out and standing upright for our arrival.
We all redressed for the afternoon which was hot and sunny donning bucket hats and shade as best we could while still embracing the alien warmth for April. Throughout our trip, the snacks and meals proved to be beyond measure and, if not for the fact that I was perpetually dirty and avoided showering for the whole trip (as did everyone else) the meals would have led you to think we were dining somewhere fancy. And while it’s true that hunger can make a feast of a fluffernutter, we were graced with lemon salmon, fresh veggies, hand-dipped chocolate-covered fruits, real carrot cake, huevos rancheros and, numerous other dishes with some local flare and inspiration. We certainly did not go hungry or find ourselves wishing for more.
We often lazed through the early evenings with seltzers, beers, and story swapping before sitting for dinner, and then coffee, tea, or cocoa and more stories, followed by comfy clothes, followed by early, purposeful retirements to our tents. Our guides didn’t often use their tents, but the first two nights we all found ourselves contending with the Sandman, regardless of our covering. We learned the next morning from our guides, the sandstorms can be so fine, that even the webbing on a tent will be too coarse to keep out the sand. I ended up sleeping with a t-shirt over my head and heard from others they did the same.
Oddly enough, it was also incredibly cold at night with the temps dipping below 30° so that I could see my breath in my tent and had to put on all the payers I had. I also pulled my electronics into my sleeping bag due to the cold which helped them all retain their battery all week long.
Once the sun came round in the morning, it was incredible to find a thin dusting, almost like a chocolate powdered sugar gently sprinkled on every surface within my tent. We didn’t contend with the sand storms much after the first night, but the sand still lingered throughout the week, and I occasionally find a gritty pocket in my backpack that seems to have retained a little pinch of the desert for later.
Day 2: Westwater Mesa to Arch Loop, 20.3 miles
It took about two hours of sunshine for us to warm up, but before long the temps were climbing into the 70’s. Laden with some coffee and a delicious breakfast we packed our day bags, lunch, and water and set out for an out and back across the mesas. Oddly enough on this ride, we only encountered dirt bikers who looked at us with puzzlement wondering why we were out so far in the desert on manual-powered bikes. This loop gave us some perspective for the massive features crafted for dirt bikes. And while many were far too steep and dangerous for us, there were some that saved us loads of energy, like the rolling berms that motor bikers would skip and skim along. We used these features to “pump” our bikes suspension, similar to how you’d pump your legs on a swing, to use their own compression and expansion to give little bits of momentum that build with each continuing berm. So after 10 or 15 in a row, you’ll find yourself cruising along with little more effort than some arm pumps and good body positioning.
This day brought us back to the same campsite where we gather for more stories and dinner and homemade carrot cake before retiring for another big day. The night sky was incredibly vast and clear, and I found myself up at 3am sitting outside my tent gazing towards the heavens in total silence (no peepers, birds, wildlife lurking where there’s no water…!)
Day 3: Western Rim, Trail 2, 18.6 miles
The next day followed the same first six miles as the previous day, at which point we turned our handlebars east, and started our first big descent into the desert basin. Each of us guests took a couple of small tumbles on our trip, though my pièce de résistance would be destined to occur about only an hour later when we were cresting some rock/ same dunes. I was second in line behind Bradley, zipping along the massive rollers which were 20 to 30 feet tall, fast, and hard packed. A few rises into the long run, I see him crest a hill, and take a 90° drop to the left, letting out a whoop! The next thing I know, I’m rolling over the crest of the same lip only to see to my horror that there is a toddler-sized boulder freshly bobbing on the trail inches from my front wheel.
For another tidbit of context, I did not bring my own flats (pedals with metal grips) which I regretted IMMEDIATELY on day 1. The bike I rode (Sassy,) came with plastic pedals, like what you’d find on a Walmart bike. Why this matters, is in tricky situations, keeping your feet firmly on the pedals when you knock into a feature, can prevent you from a “pedal-slip” where you hit a bump, and your calf or shin is raked by the hard plastic or metal tines, and more importantly, keep you upright and moving ahead rather than splayed all over the trail.
So, back to my precipice, as my front wheel hit the toddler boulder, my feet slipped both petals, my bike jerked to the right and slipped under the boulder, immediately locking in place. My legs then twisted into the bike frame as my upper body rolled over my handlebars, where my helmet was promptly stopped in it's tracks by another rock. Also, a great day for sunglasses, as I incurred a rather hefty scratch to my lens, that would have left me looking a little pirate-esque.
I have no pictures of the bike or myself when it all went down, but I vividly recall seeing blood pooling on the rock inches from my face and feeling a warm dripping of a bloody nose, and seeing my helmet visor and glasses parts all tattered. My limbs were sore, but my bike really took the brunt of the damage, breaking both the shifters and dropper seat switch (which is an impressive feat as they’re on opposite handlebars!)
This all took place in milliseconds, and once I came to a stop, I immediately called out the those behind and above me, that they wouldn’t be able to get around me and that I’d crashed pretty bad. The hill was such a steep grade, that Bradley in front of me couldn’t get back up, and my guide Matt had to pick his way down to help pull me out of my bike frame.
Once he helped me to flat ground I remember looking at him and thinking how much he resembled a patient experiencing a heart attack, gray and sweaty, which made me scared to see what he was seeing. He started trying to work through his WFR questions tripping around and gingerly touching my head, staring right into my eyes at which point I said “I didn’t lose consciousness, I remember the crash, no back or neck pain, nothing feels broken, I know where I am, what time it is, and what just happened. These (pointing to my arms and legs) all feel like abrasions, I have all my teeth (thankfully) my eyes can see normally and I didn’t bite my tongue.”
He then took a deep sigh and was like “RIGHT, you see this type of this thing, I do not.” He helped tidy up my cuts that were still bleeding while Caitlin jerry-rigged my shifters and dropper switch back together with electrical tape before putting in a call on the sat phone to let Tina know all of what happened. When we finally met up with her a few miles later, I couldn’t help but feel Matt’s nervous energy as we rolled up to the trail crossing where Tina was waiting. It felt like when a mom leaves the kid with dad and someone the kid ends up hurt, and dad then has to face mom afterward. He was definitely the one always ready for an attempt at a crazy feature, where Tina was all about scoping it out, or just walking past.
After we ate lunch, we encountered a duo of bikers, one of which was so insulted that there were no signs in the middle of the desert, we all found it rather hard to want to help him get oriented to where he was. We then poked our way along the rim of some small canyons, through many “walk your bike” zones where you skirted only a few feet from the walls. We made our way through some vat rolling fields and plains learning about the scrub grass that is an invasive grass that is so loathed for its lack of nutrition for native animals, and ability to wipe out other native grasses, and effectively make dustbowl scenarios.
We then rolled into our camp where we set up our tents, and I got to work cleaning all my cuts and determining what my future scars were shaping up to be.
Day 4: Mary’s Loop, Horse Thief Bench, & 18 Road,15.3 miles
Day 5: 18 Road
