IMBA Epic Ride: The Edge Loop, Fruita, CO

IMBA designates a small number of trails as Epics. These are the trails that require a full-blown saga to describe them. They are the cream of the crop, the elite of mountain biking rides. A few weekends ago, I was lucky enough to ride one of them.
The Edge Loop in Fruita, Colorado was the very first IMBA Epic ride. It starts and ends in the Book Cliff trail system, which in itself is a treasure trove of sweet, flowing trails. My co-worker Joel and I headed to the Book Cliff lot early one Saturday morning, donned our hydration packs, and hit the singletrack.

Joel and I at the start of our ride

We cruised our way through the well-travelled lower trails, seeing not only a few famous female mountain bikers, but also, one of the guys I graduated college with! This may not seem to amazing to you, but consider that I was in the middle of nowhere, Colorado, when up rides a guy that I’d gone dirt jumping with in Michigan. Crazy!
After a few hugs and catching up with my buddy, I pointed the bike uphill for the long fire road climb to the top of the Book Cliffs. Joel was hurting by the end of the climb, but when we gained the ridge, it was worth the slog. The view from the top was knock-you-off-your-feet good, and we both knew that what goes up, must come down—on righteous singletrack. The descent started out with a couple of seriously dicey (awesome) steep and loose drops, and then turned into some of the sweetest ripping semi-tight turns I’d had in a long time. It was heads-up territory, as I squinted through the scrubby trees to try and discern which direction the trail turned as I was tearing through each corner. Flat rocks that fractured like shale into thin slabs had accumulated in multiple layers on the trail so that the topmost rocks could slide along on the lower layers like a snowboard on the slopes. Riding on this was like walking on marbles on a concrete floor—I was loving it!
Eventually we ended up in a sandy wash that sapped the strength out of both of us. Joel was a trooper, but I could tell he was flagging. Time to break out the secret weapon: caffeinated Gu! Mmmm, one of those apiece, and we were ready to fly to the moon. We wound our way down the dry streambed, finally emerging on the outer reaches of the Book Cliff system. At this point I was ready to rip. The trail was flat, windy, and beautiful. I big-ringed it until I was about ready to throw up, and then waited for Joel so we could snap a few pictures of the heifers on the trail.

Joel works it with the ladies

Six hours after we started, Joel and I triumphantly rode into the trailhead, drank some celebratory recovery drink (yeah, I know, recovery drink isn’t as good as beer, but you feel better the next day), headed back to our campsite, ate some pasta, and hit the hay. Goodnight!
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Back from the Sea Otter

Sorry about the lack of posting, I've been at the biggest event in North American mountain biking: The Sea Otter Classic. I'll give the full race report in a little while, but right now I'm a little fried from the twenty hour drive (straight through from Monterey to Colorado Springs), not to mention the full week of riding, racing, and generally seeing the sights.
Briefly, we arrived at Laguna Seca on Wednesday evening, where I set up my tent and crashed after an epic drive. The next day I wandered the venue, checking out the vendors/exhibitors, which included anyone and everyone remotely connected to bikes. My roommate Jane and I also pre-rode the XC course. Friday I raced in the Open Women's Short Track, which was about 25 minutes of dying on a bicycle. I got 13th out of 20 (on Friday the 13th!), having put forth a good effort. Saturday it poured buckets, and I retreated to nearby Salinas to dry out my things after my tent started raining on the inside. Yikes. But, by that night I was all dried out and ready for the next morning's cross country race.
The expert women lined up on the Laguna Seca Raceway itself, and at the whistle, our cross country mountain bike race took off on the famous pavement. Now, I think road racing is downright scary, and this experience didn't change my opinion. I was surrounded by a pack of women all jostling for place while hauling the mail down the asphalt. Lots of dodgy corners and unpredictable brake-grabbing happened before we were able to get on the dirt and into our proper element. I was feeling pretty strong (as strong as I could feel while wheezing myself to death racing in April), when chink! my cassette ate my chain. A few choice curse words, and a lot of lost minutes later I was back on the bike, racing along with the Men's Sport class riders , who had started behind us. Well, I certainly didn't break any records, but I sure showed some Sport riders how sand is meant to be ridden! All told, I managed to not DFL even with my trail repairs, finishing the roughly 19-mile course in about 1:58 minutes, 26th out of 28 competitors.
OK, I'm going to unpack, pedal a little, and pass out. Night all!
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Cheyenne Canyon Riding

Sunday I went for a long mountain bike ride. Jane couldn't come, so I struck out alone. Just a couple miles from my new place is the beginning of the Chutes, a fun trail that I like to climb to get to many of the other trails in the area. As I topped out the Chutes and started heading towards Buckhorn Trail, I ran into one of the guys from my favorite local shop and his wife.
I tagged along with them as the dropped into Upper Columbine, and I worked on making every single switchback in the trail. Switchbacks became the theme of my ride as I thanked the shop couple for letting me join. They headed back while I made for Buckhorn, spinning up it in the granny gear, husbanding my energy for the switchbacks. Then I started going downhill. Captain Jack's is a much talked about trail, and deservedly so. It's washed out, loose, and decidedly dicey in spots. I love it. I dropped down like a white girl on the dance floor, flying out from the bottom of the trail, and continued straight onto Middle Columbine, which is even more loose and dicey. In short order, I was back where I began with a grin on my face, having made every switchback I found, both up and down.
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34" of New Snow at Vail

This Saturday four friends and I loaded up in the Party Van (El Van de Fiesta), this sweet conversion van owned by my friends Jeff and Sarah, with the singular goal of skiing the 29" of snow that fell in Vail over the last few days. Truth be told, I should have been on my bike, but a powder day trumps all. And damn was it good. We skied trees all day, perfect soft powder turns through ponderosa pine as another 5" dropped on the mountain. Ahhhhhhh.
On the way back to the Springs, we stopped off at the South Park Saloon (yes, it does exist) for a pitcher. Then to continue our streak of tiny mountain town bars, we stopped at the HOB. Now most people think that HOB stands for "Hartsel's Only Bar", but in truth, it refers to the Heartless Old B* (I'm editing for any youngsters reading this) who owns the place. Well, she wasn't there, but her daughter was, and she certainly earned the title. But we had a great time. The half dozen or so people in the bar propped the door open for us to come in, and promptly started cheering as soon as we entered. By the end of that round, we had some new best friends, hugs all around and tears of parting as we finished our tired trek back to home.
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Mountain Biking in Denver?

Yesterday I stayed in Denver (actually, Littleton, same idea, different suburb) with my friend Will's mom. I based out of her home for a sweet mountain bike ride.
Of course the first few miles had nothing to do with mountain biking. I was able to hop on the local commuter trail and ride my way to Chatfield State Park, no roads involved. From there I hopped on Deer Creek Road, which must be the place to climb for all the roadies. They were all out in full kit, looking like a flock of hummingbirds in their bright, matched jerseys and shorts. yours truly earned a few odd looks for my bike, but most were friendly and waved as they went by.
My original goal was Deer Creek Canyon Park, and though I was able to get in a little bit of righteous singletrack switchbacks in, most of the trails were snowed in. So I popped across the valley into South Valley Park. There I rode under the watchful eye of the Lockheed Martin security guard (who was very helpful in pointing the way, I might add), on some of the most aesthetic singletrack I've seen in the Front Range. The trail itself was narrow hardpack slicing through a beautiful open field on a plateau from which the mountains sprouted sharply upward. I went over to the more widely travelled parts of the park, until I ran across a donkey, and decided to go back to my high plateau. I rode the same trail in reverse and loved every minute of it the second time around as well.
After the high point (both literally and figuratively) I headed back down Deer Creek Canyon road, where I hopped on the wheels of a group of roadies. Free ride! I sat and spun in their slipstream, a mountain biker keeping time with roadies, much to their dismay. Hah! And they didn't even get to hit up any sweet trails. Sucks to be them.
And so I made my way back, past the spillway into Chatfield Lake, under Highway 470, over the pedestrian bridge for Mineral, through the RTD station, and finally past the dirt jumps back to home base.
Grand total: 3:58 minutes of riding, I have no idea how many miles, and one sore butt.
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Wiggidty!

Will and I at Winter Carnival

My old teammate from Tech, Will, is here for his Spring Break, and I'm tuckered. All this riding and partying is taking a notch out of me, since I still have to put in 40hrs this week. Ouch!

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So many things to ride, so few days off...

15 days paid vacation a year sounds like a lot. Nope.
Not when there are so many trails out there to be ridden. My latest obsession? The Dirt Series. I want to go to one of the BC sessions so badly I can hardly stand it! Yarrgh.
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