Waking up already in Trestle Bike Park was cake. Being greeted by the lift operator saying "welcome to your own private bike park" was the icing on that cake.
Sure, $90 seems steep to someone who's used to Snowshoe prices, but we managed to get it down to 140 vertical feet per dollar spent. Big ups to everyone who stayed home that day and chose not to create an inconvenient crowd.
I didn't stop a whole lot to take pictures. Feels like it's kinda discouraged, anyways. BTW: $8 for a can of Coke is only slightly more ridiculous when a local craft beer is $9.
We accidentally found this free campground south of Leadville when we overshot our original planned stop. Sure, more dealing with the generator generation, but at least we didn't have to poop in a hole in the ground.
Next was the highly recommended Dr Park. Nobody warned us about the final three miles of the climb, but I can't hate because the descent was so worth it, aside from...
If you've ever been, imagine yourself going down the super flowy 30+ mph dirt ribbon that's smoother than a baby's butt... and somehow puncturing your 2.4 tire with an insert AND ripping it beyond plugging. Just imagine.
And... as so many times it happens in Colorado, the descent ended on exposed, loose trail, turning me from a thirty mile an hour hero through the trees hero to a sphincter clenched zero very quickly.
Also, Bill Nye had a handy way to get his insert down the mountain that I then realized totally wouldn't work for me with my insert of another brand... and also lack of a fanny pack. NO WHAMMIES.
Not really surprising anyone, but Dr Park mighta been my favorite ride of the trip.
The stream crossing made these NC bois feel at home.
Bill Nye decided to take to longest way across, I'm assuming to cool off before climbing up the gulch.
At the top before talking to some moto guys and a bird that didn't speak English.
We had a sweet creekside campsite that night, so we were at least able to finally apply water to our soiled selves. Bill Nye informed me the next morning that we were just across the road from this hidden outhouse. I personally couldn't even make it across the threshold *vomit*, so I ended up digging a hole again.
Animals. I swear there were a thousand chipmunks crossing the downhill in front of me playing some form of chicken... but they probably call it "chipmunk."
We needed to move on the next day, so upon Jordan's advice (someone who knows my tastes), we headed up to Crested Butte for Teocali Ridge. The climb was shorter than Dr Park, but way more arduous.
Cows not being impressed by my climbing prowess.
We came to this stream crossing that had a billionty cow paths going in and out of it. Nobody warned us about that.
As you can see on my data acquisition device, we poked and prodded our way down quite a few less than ideal paths before realizing that the creek was indeed the road. That was not in the brochure.
Almost, almost, almost above tree line at 11,350 feet.
But we did earn our way up there.
I never take stupid selfies because they're stupid so here's a stupid selfie. I can no longer say I don't do this.
It was from this point on that the "road" turned into trail and got super Wheeler feeling. Whilst I do love my single speed, my vacation bike was finally serving its special purpose. I always wondered what kinda trails I'd be able to climb at the Breck Epic on a geared bike, and now I know. Not saying I'd do BE on a geared bike, but whatever. I also now know why 30 and 28 tooth rings exist. Because Colorado exists.
We headed back to the low hanging fruit free campground we'd found a couple days back to save us from looking for something else, and to put us in striking distance to some Front Range stuff on the way back to civilization. The plan was Maryland Mountain, but we woke up in the rain, drove in the rain, and the only magical place that wasn't getting active rain on the Front Range was Golden... so White Ranch it is.
To say it wasn't raining would be a bit of a white lie. It was actively moisting as we climbed the three mile/1,300 foot ascent up Belcher Hill.
Parking lot magpie trying to determine if Bill Nye was running Ergon GA1 or GE2 grips by tasting them.
The climb up was more affirmation of the geared bike. The descents... didn't matter. We slid and hucked and whatnot back down to the parking lot, Bill Nye testing the limits of the slickery whilst I watched.
And that was that. Hardly an epic way to end a trip, but it was almost looking like we weren't getting a final ride in at all.
I'd say we met our goals. We didn't finish all beat up and down, the mechanical issues were all easily addressed, and we saw some new shit without driving five or six hours a day. We had good times and got to hang out with some of our westerly frands.
I was kinda tired when I got back, but here's hoping that all that riding and hanging out from 8,000-11,500 feet above sea level boosts my hemogoblins (blood ghosts) and makes me strong like bull for this weekend's Treeshaker 6 Hour Challenge.
Mild Mild West Tour '23. Called so quite intentionally. Instead of our usual drive all over the west to major destinations and big shuttle rides, we kept the van time to a minimum and explored some lesser famous stuff... and also made up about 2/3 of the trip as we went along.
For example...
We were gonna ride White Ranch at the start of our trip, but that got poo-poo'ed. Didn't matter much to me. I'm willing to defer to the locals. We ended up at Lair 'o the Bear and Floyd Hill.
Low hanging fruit, but it still tasted fine.
Take a bowl, leave a bowl program alive and well at Floyd Hill.
We only had once thing "scheduled" all week long. We needed to get up with Scott for a true backcountry ride on Sourdough. Met at a brewery, slept in the woods, woke up next to the trailhead.
Stout. That's all I can say. The climbing was as technical as the downhill. Footballs, microwaves, baby heads, Hormel canned hams...
It was some slow rolling until we had gravity assisting our forward progress.
This is a great place to test equipment. 100%. Now I'll have to sell this as "slightly used."
The best way I can describe the descent down the St Vrain Trail would be thusly. If you've ever done the Breck Epic and you member that descent that gets all the east coasters' underwear tight/moist, this was like that... times a factor of three.
Terriers will never know the joy that can be had here.
We climbed the road back to camp, and Scott and Chad went back to their respective families. Bill Nye and I had come up with a game plan for the next two days that didn't require us to leave out immediately, so we took a walk to a lake (that was on private property, oops).
Trespassers coming the other way warned us about quicksand. I was excite.
My Gilligan's Island expectations were met with rather disappointing results. I did feel like my life was in peril for a couple seconds tho.
So another night, another campfire with found wood dragged back from our hike, and another hole dug to poop in.
We picked the trails near Nederland for our next adventure. It was a fine stopping point on our journey to Trestle Bike Park, so it meshed in well with our plan... that was running slowly outta actual plans.
Picked some random MTB Project route and adapted it to our needs.
We farted around a lot on the front end after addressing a sad drooper post.
And then we found ourselves on the wrong trail in terms of what we thought we were gonna do, but it got us where we wanted to go eventually, and the ride down Schoolbus was a hoot... followed by a slog back to the van.
Which we then put our unbathed persons into and drove to Trestle Bike Park to enjoy an evening camping in the parking lot with the generator generation.
I'll get to my/our Mild Mild West Tour '23 once I knock out some Horny Cat 69 business first. The party donation period ends next Sunday, and I'm getting excite. So excite...
FWIW: The Park Tool TSI-1 sealant injector can inject tubeless goop into your tires from up to ten feet away, depending on your accuracy.
There's really not much Horny Cat updating to do, but here goes nothing.
* About half of the spots are still remaining. I doubt it will fill, but please realize you're taking your chances if you really wanna do this, but you're just sitting on your thumbs till next Sunday.
* Dr Mike and I went and looked at some of the spots of "concern" yesterday, and I can assure you that what was overgrown is still overgrown. The dilapidated bridges are still there, and more than likely will survive at least until the end of September. I'm gonna be a busy boy for the next two weeks, so that's that.
* I'll make sure there's lots of beer. There will be some of those bubble drink waters. Even a few N/A beers. I'll buy some soda pops because some people are better at life decisions than I am. Pizzas will be various and room temperature when you finish. There will be no pumpkin beer. I repeat. There will be no pumpkin beer.
* The pre-ride email is written and loaded into the word cannon. It will be fired off on September 6th to everyone that donated to the party. It's more wordy than your average prenuptial agreement, but it does have pictures, so FUN.
* I have more prizes than I know what to do with. Seriously. I have no idea how to distribute them fairly. I don't want sweaty people trying on gloves and jerseys in my yard, but I want everyone to be happy. I've considered just throwing them up in the air all at once and letting yinz/y'all finger it out.
* Speaking of which, I still need to treat my lawn with something that mosquitoes don't like. I'll have some DEET crap if you need it.
* The Pie is vacating the premises with Boppit for the weekend. The house will be open'esque. If you're the type that lives in a barn and leaves my backdoor open, you will be publicly chastised. My house is small and smells like dog farts, so you're probably going to want to stay outside anyways.
* This is a bike ride. There are no rules. You'll get the whole route in the email, but you can ride what you like. Everyone will be treated like a champion of doing a thing. Only a select few will do the whole thing.
* I'll have my hose turned on for the washing of bikes, dousing of heads and limbs, and for those folks that want to test their resistance to meningitis.
Meningitis Magpie says "EAT MOOR GREPS."
If you have any questions, the blerhg comments are a terrible place for them. Post up in the FaceBook comments on this link or on the event page... or... *sigh*... email me. Good lorb, I don't wanna answer the same dumb question a million times. Don't say "there are no dumb questions," because we all know that's a bunch of happy horse shit.
And if you wanna know anything up front without clicking a bunch of links, you can always just shoot me an email (you shouldn't). Otherwise, if you just want in, hit me at SMELLYCAT100K at hotmail dot com, and I'll shoot you back my VENMO deets for the $10 payment.
One more warning at the end of this week, kids. Then all systems are go and this shit ship will not be turned around.
If you finished the '23 PMBAR, you still have a shot at the King/Queen of Pisgah. You just need to do the final three events, but you better not sleep on it. The Pisgah Enduro™ is this weekend. I'm bummed I'm gonna miss it, because it's an all new course. The Mild Mild West Tour '23 beckons tho. After that, there's Monster Cross in September and Pisgah 111K in October. There's $7,000 in prize money up for grabs (split evenly between K&Q), so get some.
Since I'm going outta town August 19-27, I won't be doing any Horny Cat 69 promotional related efforts. I just don't wanna keep up on the emails and Venmos and whatnot. Once I get back, I'll be going full steam on getting the slackers moving.
And FWIW, when I get back from Colorado, no Shenandoah Mountain 100k for me. Instead, I'll be doing the Treeshaker 6 Hour Challenge. I never could get my '22 deferral sorted out after last year's canceled event, and The Pie needed me to shit or get off the pot so she could make Labor Day plans, so I went ahead and shit. Bummed, but it is what it is. Gonna rip laps and boost gaps (and take naps).
So... on to other topics.
The day after I last posted here, I sought medical help regarding my bug bite issues. I don't specifically know what chomped me, but it put some bad juju in my veins and saddled me with the vapors. Night sweats, chills, joint pain, headaches... suffice to say, after almost a week of drubs, I'm feeling much more buenos. Went for two rides over the weekend, and never felt like I was gonna die, which is marked improvement.
Wilson Creek ditch living with Stephen King, Türd, and Bill Nye.
Humidity is still killer up in the NC mountains. Can't wait to get away from it for awhile.
Mild Mild West Tour '23 coming, shaking out the cobwebs (literally) before we leave.
On Sunday, I went out and joined about a thousand billionty other Charlotte area mountain bikers for one final ride at Steve's... I mean, Rocky River Trail. Steve passed away about a year ago, and the family has decided to no longer keep the trails open to the public. I get it. We've seen this happen before with the trails at Poplar Tent, but it doesn't take the sting away.
Türd and I were recently discussing the "best trail in the Charlotte area," and he felt pretty strongly that RRT was tops. As much as I like it, it's the long haul there and back that kills it for me. Forty five minutes on certain streets in Charlotte that I just... just... have an inability to tolerate. From a road design perspective. From fellow traveler perspective. From a terrifying memories of the worst bike commutes in my life perspective.
So Türd proposed this quandary. If I could have one last ride on a Charlotte area trail in which I would be helicoptered to the trailhead and then my life force extinguished when I was done, where would I want to go? I had no answer (at least not one he was happy with), but after one last solo'esque ride at a leisurely pace trying to soak it all in, I'd have to say he's right. It really is (was?) that good. So much real single track, so many features, buttloads of miserable challenging climbs, juicy descents, and probably the most bespoked and nurtured trail around.
One of my goals on the ride was to retrieve the "Dicky's Rock" sign that Steve had nailed to a tree. I only deserve half the credit for the feature, as Jerry the Cat was right there next to me working beyond what I felt like could be done in a day to complete it.*
Essentially, I was just there to help Steve and Jerry do some maintenance. We were working on a sliver of single track and just ten feet to the left was this giant boulder. There's tons of them all over the property, and I asked Steve why aren't we riding over any of them.
"Go ahead and build something if you want."
With no real plan, Jerry and I went to it. We had to bring in so much rock to fill in the gap in front of the boulder. Then it was all covered in dirt, which bummed me out, because all the rock work we did was now hidden from view (it was a thing of beauty). Jerry pointed out that it was still too steep to roll, so I went way up the hill and found this tortoise sized rock to place at the bottom.
There was a lot of flipping and flopping and rolling to get it from its location probably forty yards up the hill. There was a certain risk that it was going to roll down the hill past where we wanted it to be, and without the assistance of gravity, it wasn't going anywhere but down. Then lots of sweating and grunting and smashed fingers to get it into place. Looked done to me, but...
"You know people are going to jump off the top and there's nowhere to land."
I'd never considered that because I wouldn't.
I was outta water, food, and energy, but Jerry had a point. We still needed to bench in a lander that would catch any hucksters. I was feeling wobbly and half dead, but we hacked away until we had the whole thing worked in.
It was after that day, I realized why Steve didn't prioritize riding over all the silly boulders (although over the years, he built plenty of wooden features to get up on other rocks that put this feature to shame).
So anyways, I guess Jerry musta told Steve I gave away part of my soul building something stupid on his trail (as opposed to doing the maintenance I was supposed to be helping with that day), so Steve put up the "Dicky's Rock" sign. I've done lots of days of forgettable trail "maintenance," but I will certainly never forget that day.
And although Emily was standing right there on Sunday, and I coulda handed her my phone to document it, I got to roll "my rock" one last time to the applause of no one but the little me in my brain.
Oh yeah, the sign. It was gone. I had a feeling people might be taking mementos from the trail on this final weekend, as it was littered with all kinds of decorations. This trail has been around for so long, and a lot of people have memories (good and bad), so I can see wanting to take something home. The sign belonged to me no more than any other human, so good on them for grabbing something to remind them of the good times... or bad. I've seen some people get pretty messed up on "my rock."
But then yesterday, I got a Face Message request from some guy named James.
He'd heard or read that I was bummed on missing out on my piece of history, and he was the one who got there first. He offered to meet up or mail it to me. I'm... happy?
Stoked to be getting the sign but also still dealing with the sadness that not only did we lose Steve who had built this gem of a trail, we lost one of the best things we Charlotte riders have had in a long time, and chances are, we'll never see anything like it again.
Fuck it. Enough sads. I'm heading to Colorado. See you in a couple weeks.
* Late Edit: I was able to find the OG post about building Dickys Rock with Jerry back in Feb '12.
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