Send-ona: In the beginning...

Send-ona.  Jeebus.  Where to even start?

The trip was everything I'd hoped.  Equal parts riding and actual relaxing... you know, because "vacation."

The trip there was not without its own smaller stories.  From the person at the counter who spent minutes explaining to me that she was not there to help me to the guy at the Atlanta airport bar with the same name as Bill Nye (actually Ryan) who had a dad with the same name who served in the same branch of the military who was on his way to an interview for a job at a power plant (Nye works at a nuke-u-lar facility).

Anyways, two planes and a shuttle drops us off many hours later at the White House Inn.  Matt scoops us up and the first song I hear on the radio is the Time of my Life.

Indeed.

Straight out to eat burrito number one of who even knows how many, and back to Matt's for a rough night of East Coast to West Coast travel sleep.  Mang, I'm old.

Wake up, breakfast, build bikes (s-l-o-w-l-y), head out for a soft intro to Send-ona on some nearby trails with shop guy Mike.

There's only like a million of options.  We hardly scratch the surface.

Canyon of Fools was the only one that stands out in my head.  The trails were all littered with technical moves and random chunk gnar.  Matt's Shimano crunk came a bit loose and the plastic sphincter bolt was missing.  Mike's Evil frame lost a threaded bit that holds the whole back of his machine together,  Send-ona can rattle your teeth out, if given the chance.  Bill Nye is still feeling the effects of flubola from the past week, so we cut our losses, saving some matches for a long week.  That night... burrito?

Bill Nye finds out that his buddy Chad is also in town with some friends.  They're just there for a short time, so they're gonna try to hit all the highlights.  It is decided that we were heading to Hi Line in the morning.

*sigh*

I woulda preferred to "warm up" to the riding in Send-ona before taking on such a challenge, but the majority rules.  Matt, Bill Nye and I ride over to their hotel and we join up with Chad, Darren and a guy from Finland whose name I can pronounce but not spell.  I can't remember the names of all the trails we hit on the way to Hi Line, but nothing has me too perplexed... aside from a creek crossing... in the desert.

I don't remember this but it happened:

We get up to Hi Line, and once we hit the real meat of the trail, my butt puckers.  Super steep roll-ins with loose dirt, slick rock, red garvel bits... occasional exposure.  I think my ridiculous fear of heights has been mentioned here in the past.  Let's just say I down-hike quite a bit.  Many of the others charge most if not all of the steeps.  I watch and cringe and imagine compound fractures and also death.  None of that happens tho. 

I do ride my bike some of the time.

And when I do, it's good.

And also, yeth, I'm wearing a hydration pack... from the late '90s.  Longer rides in the desert probably shouldn't be done with only two bottles, and I've given away or sold almost all the hydration packs that have come my way in the past fifteen years.  So, a heavily modified Blowfish it is.

Out to eat that night and beers at some place I can't recall that was fortunately a walk away from Matt's place.

Tomorrow, Hangover.

Times two.