Saturday, October 30, 1999 - House Money

Two days before November in Nederland, Colorado and the mountain bike trails are still, for the most part, clear of snow. This, as they say in Vegas, is called playing on House Money. Decided to forgo the cross race down in Boulder today for a psuedo-epic singletrack ride. After all, the amount of days left to ride singletrack in the high country can be counted on one hand, especially since I’m going to North Carolina for an IMBA function in mid-November. I suspect by the time I get back, trail riding in Nederland will be a done deal. Conversely, cross-season is going on until December. Cross is a cool sport -- extremely difficult - but I have a tough time justifying riding around some vacant field in Boulder when there is singletrack to be had in the mountains.

I’d probably get and argument from people on this one, but I feel there are two types of mountain bikers, divided by the very name of the sport. Those who do the sport for the mountain side, and those who do it for the biking side. The mountain-side mountain biker enjoys his or her sport for the Lewis and Clark element inherent to the activity. Exploration, getting deep into nature, finding fresh singletrack, getting lost, hike-a-bikes, etc. The bike is a tool to get into the backcountry - definitely not an end to itself. These people may have expensive bike, but this is more out of necessity - it would be a major bummer to have a shoddy bike break miles from home.

The biker segment of mountain biking, while related to the aforementioned group, is quite a different species. This group focuses more on the technical aspect of the sport -- tuning bikes, watching the Paris-Robaix on video, putting tubular tires on cross bikes, racing around fields all fall long in pursuit of cross glory, scoffing at single speed soul riders, etc.

I can honestly say I fall quite clearly into category number one. Not to say that this is better than the "biking" group. Just different ways to pursue our passionate desire to challenge the mind, body and spirit. A lot of my riding friends are fairly clear cut "biking" mountain bikers, and the majority fall somewhere between the two groups. Both groups are, quite certainly, a step up from the fro-riding, pad wearing, wanna-be motorcyclists that seem to be gracing the trails more often every day.

Today’s ride was another solo adventure into the North Shore, B.C. imitation woods of near Nederland (See IGSSC section for photos of this area.) These trails (or specifically one trail called the Habid Trail) are something of a cross between Blair Witch Project, Star Wars and a solid 60 minute track of soulful techno music. Twisty to the point of being dizzying, with four major obstacles thrown in four good taste, the Habid Trail is world class and still a relative secret. To keep it that way, I will not give specifics about where this trail is -- other than saying it is somewhere between Boulder and the Continental Divide. Am I a NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard)? Hell no. I guided 25 folks through the Dot Trail system this summer - none of whom had ever ridden the trails. I do, however, believe that everyone deserves to have their secret spot. Certain places have to be earned in life, and I’ll be damned if some full boinger dork who doesn’t give a damn about the environment, trail work and the soul of mountain biking finds the secret places.
Back to the obstacles - they consist of a fairly moderate teeter totter, a scary as hell bridge known as Death Star Bridge, a narrow but short turn bridge, and the new bridge - known as Blair Witch Bridge. After successfully navigating the first three obstacles - first time ever for me on the Death Star Bridge (whoo hoo!) -- I came upon the recently constructed Blair Witch Bridge. This thing makes the first three look like child’s play. It’s about 40 feet in length, turns four times, ranges from about 2 inches wide to a foot wide, has loose planks, and requires about a three foot wheelie drop. Eating a good slab of humble pie, I rode the first of the 4 sub-sections and then proceeded to dump off the left side into a sea of dead branch shrapnel. Ouch. Either we’re all going to become really good B.C. North Shore-style riders or that IMBA medical insurance is going to get well used. Probably both.

Tired of bridges (or so I tell myself) I begin the steep trek up to Tennessee Mountain. I’m on a singlespeed, but I’ve rigged a relatively low 34x20 for this occasion. It works pretty well actually, for the most part the climb is rideable in this gear ratio. Snow from two weeks ago has frozen, making traction iffy at best. The snow gets deeper the higher I climb, and at around 9,500 feet is a good 8-12 inches in depth. As a wise man once said, however, its not an epic unless there is some hiking involved. Finally, after much suffering and many grins, I reach the top of Tennessee Mountain. The overlook is awesome today - the Continental Divide is shimmering white as are the ski trails of Eldora. The Ned riding season is just about done - but not before a final run down the elusive Broken Arrow, aka-Judd’s Trail, which comes down the eastern side of Tennessee Mountain. The nice thing about Judd’s Trail is that it is hard to find, making it relatively unused. The lousy thing about Judd’s Trail is that it is hard to find, ensuring that you WILL spend a good 45 minutes looking for the damn thing. I’ve been on Judd’s Trail four times and have yet to find the trailhead quickly. This trail definitely gets the award for most elusive.

As I was trudging through the woods, I was very glad my Ionic Johnny Rotten Singlespeed was bright orange -- it’s deer hunting season in the Colorado mountains. Gunshots reverberated off the surrounding mountains, turning our little mecca of mountain biking into Bosnia. I did my best to help the deer and elk, ringing my bell like a mad man in hopes of scaring them away from the redneck hunters looking to "git their deer."

After about an hour I had just about given up on finding Judd’s god-damned Trail, when ta-da it appeared before me. How typical is that? It seems in life when you are looking for something you can never find it, and when you stop looking it comes to you. Anyhow, Judd’s Trail is pretty bitching - twisty, GS type singletrack the descends back down to the mother lode of West Mag. Just as I came to the end of the trail I saw, sitting in the middle of the field, an orange clad hunter. He quickly turned as I approached, perhaps thinking I was a deer (or maybe he was a member of PUMA???) and looked a bit disappointed when he saw that it was just a baggy Nema broh. I began to wonder if he heard my bell ringing, as I quickly skirted through the valley and out of his gunfire range. Headed home the way I came - Habid, West Magnolia - just as the sun set on another great day, and perhaps a great season, in the Colorado Rocky Mountains.