Thurs 6th Oct - Edge Loop, Fruita CO

Big Day! After some miserable hotel coffee, we threw our gear into the van and made our way back to the Bookcliffs. We parked just before the bright orange netting that prevented access to the campground while construction work was underway.

We set out at about 11:30am. Another gorgeous day. The cliffs looked like they were cardboard cutouts against the deep blue sky.

“We are soon going to be at the top of that” Randy tells us pointed up! We begin riding the “Front Side” which is a series of ‘fingers’ skirting the base of the cliffs. It is fun, fast and rolling. I reckon my decision not to do the Zippidoo-dah trail last night with those three was a good decision for me. I felt rested and stronger.

We came to the gravel road and bore right up it. 11 miles of gravel road wending its way up the rear of the cliffs. The first 6 miles weren’t too bad as the incline was gradual. The last 5 miles were totally brutal. The incline got steeper and steeper! As expected Tim was out front on his single speed leading the pack upwards. I changed down into a stronger gear, looked at my front wheel and pedaled…endlessly it seemed. Suddenly I could see the blue sky rise up above the road and I knew it was the crest!

We snacked on sandwiches while we lay in the sun recovering. “There’s always a payoff” Randy always said and I was looking forward to it. We pressed on and got to a lookout where the cliffs freefell from where we stood and rolled out on to a plain towards Fruita. It was spectacular!

Payoff time! Steep, fast and very rocky track that demanded total focus. This changed over to the same steep, loose rock trail except it was now single-track. It was exhilarating to blast full tilt down the side of the mountain leaping over loose rock and sliding around corners. Took one too fast and I ended up in a tree that luckily broke my fall.

Right at the bottom we hung left and rode along a river bed. A while later we reached the waterfall which had dribbles of water sliding down its face. We rappelled down this with our bikes before continuing along the river bed weaving and ducking the overhanging shrubs.

At last we exited the river bed and swung up onto the first of many fingers that make up the ‘Chutes and Ladders’ trail. Steep descents and vicious climbs. By now, we were all feeling the affects of the long ride thus far. Not much was said on the short breaks we took at the top of some of the real mothers. Hung over my bars, I just panted!

The light was golden on the long grass as we made our last weave around a finger and dropped down to where we had parked the van.

For the first 5 minutes as we took off our kit, no one said anything. We were knackered! We pulled out the camp chairs and popped a few beers and only then did we begin to chat about the ride. Epic! In a word; all 27.5 miles of it.

We discussed camping another night to do the Westwater Mesa trail tomorrow, but there was consensus on hitting the highway for home.

We repacked the van. Dinner at Pancho Villas in Fruita was delicious even if we did have to wait a while for our food. At around 7:30pm we left Fruita for home. It had been a memorable trip offering a wide gamut of stunning trails. Jerome and I had clocked about 100 miles in total with the other three up at around 110 miles.

Thanks chaps!

From Randy

Dear Zara, I love you. From Randy

Motel 8

They returned in the dark after an hour and a half. We packed up in the brisk wind and turned back for town. We found the State camp site and were busy unpacking the van to walk the gear to the nearest tent site when Mark said “Hey guys, sorry but I need to get a room at a hotel.” “That’s what I said an hour ago” Jerome said. Packed up and checked into Motel 8.

A delicious Sonoran Burger and beer at the Fruita Brew Pub was well received. We met Troy (of Fat Tire Guide to Fruita fame) and he guided us on how best to get to the best part of Westlake Mesa trail that we are planning to ride Friday morning before heading North.

Those beds were soft and cozy!

Turkey Flats - Day 4

We left Moab at around 11:30am opting for the highway option back towards Fruita. Our plan was to turn off to the Colorado National Monument Park, home of the Turkey Flats trail that we were all keen to do. We entered the park passing the ranger station and began the winding ascent in the early afternoon.

“This is not a good put-in place. What are they thinking?” Randy quipped when we saw a car with two kayaks strapped to the roof parked in a small parking area off the narrow road.

The road turned from tarmac to gravel. Tim took over driving so Randy could eat his chicken Sub. The road wind further up into the tree lined ridges. The vivid colors of turning leaves looked like an artist’s palette.

“I’ve had my turn blinker on for an hour now” Tim said. We were stuck behind a truck on the narrow road, with no room to get past.

We all pretty chaffed to do this 10 mile road that sounded like it had a fabulous mix of damp single track and open grassy climbs. “This is going to be great trail” Tim said as he maneuvered the van around yet another hairpin bend. “I hope they have a shithouse there” is all Jerome countered with.

It was cold. There was snow on the ground, but at least the sun was out. We togged up and hit the trail which began with an ascent (what else!) before heading left into the woods. In minutes our wheels were clogged with persistent mud. Mud that caked the frame and stopped my rear wheel from turning as I pushed it up a slippery, muddy, wet hill. The tires were like huge puffy candy floss-coated wheels with no traction whatsoever. We pressed on, but after about 4 miles of this, I got to the top of another climb to find Jerome sitting there leaning on his bike. The other three were down a little way. I waved that I was turning back. This was less than fun.

Jerome and I headed back to the car with mud spinning up from the wheels and coating our legs, ass and bike.

As we coasted the last corner, we saw the other three were already at the van. Apparently it was a unanimous decision to call it a day!

We cracked open some Pacific beer and returned the way we had come. After I handed Tim a beer, Randy commented to Tim who was driving, “You know you really shouldn’t have a beer in your hand when we pass the ranger station on the way out.”
“You think less of me now?” Tim shot back.
“I never thought much of you to begin with” Randy retorted. Always a quick tongue!

We hit a car-wash in Fruita where we washed off the mud before driving out to the camp site below the Book Cliffs. Tim, still driving, was passed another beer. “What’s the deal with this 3.2% stuff?” he asked referring to the lower alcohol beer sold in parts of Utah and Colorado.
“Well, you’re driving. Don’t you know the law Tim?” Randy chimed.

“Closed for construction” signs met us. It was an hour or so before dark and Tim wanted to ride badly.

Jerome and I took it easy in the van while Tim, Randy and Mark went off for a ride that was sure to turn into a night-ride. I wanted to conserve every morsel of energy I had for tomorrow’s 30 mile bash.

Leaving Moab

It was cold when we got up at 7am. The origin of the klank was found. Tom’s blue cooler bag he had left behind stuffed with chicken and sausages well past their prime!

Cramming sandy tents, bags and wheels into the van, we headed down into Moab for breakfast at The Slickrock Café.

Some of the chaps went shopping and Aaron said farewell.

Porcupine Rim, Moab UT - Day 3

Some of the lads dropped the van off at the bottom of Porcupine Rim. I crawled into the tent to lie down. Helmets, gloves, damp sleeping bags and clothes lined the smelly tent, all covered in a fine patina of Utah sand. Sweaty and exhausted, I passed out as the rain tinkled on the tent roof.

“It looks like its clearing. Game on” I heard as I came to about an hour later. A scrabble of Shimano sandals on rocks as Randy dashed back to the cave. It began to hail!

I got up and joined Tim, Randy, Jerome and Aaron in the cave as we watched the sky begin to clear from the west like a giant windshield wiper.

“Which way are we looking” Tim asked.
“Well, West from here” Aaron responded.
“How do you know that” Tim pressed.
“The sun set over there last night” Aaron pointed out.
“So what are you saying?” from Tim. We all laughed.

We decided to push on with the planned ride of Porcupine Rim. Aaron shuttled the bikes up to the trailhead further up the road.

As we got out of the car, Mark came over and shared with us his chat with two other riders who had come past earlier. They had suggested we were crazy to go out in this, without lights too. I could tell Aaron vacillating. The Micro-Brew Pub was looking to be rather inviting right now.

Unanimous decision to ride. So off we pedaled. I battled. The first part of the 14 mile trail was up hill, up hill and more bloody up hill. My legs turned at the speed of metronome. Every time I turned a corner, there up ahead would be another series of ragged rocky steps going into another corner, and up!

“The up hill is almost over, and then it’s down hill ALL the way” was Randy’s coaxing chant. I began to disbelieve him.

Finally we got to the top of the world where the open plains below spread out like a tablecloth. The descent was down an extremely rocky road littered with rock striations and step offs. It was heady! Aaron and I rode head-to-head as we shot down. My bike was in its element and it felt superb. We each chose different lines, often crisscrossing one another. His bunny-hop leaps were a pleasure to see.

We entered the Wilderness Preserve Study area where the trail lost the rocky track and became a dedicated single track that hugged the side of the mountain. It seemed improbable that from this altitude we would somehow descend to the level of the river so far below.

The sun was waning now and the crisp mountain air whistled through my helmet. The last rosy gloss of sun painted the far side of the canyons.

Single file was made our way down the track which often had one leaping from rocky ledge to rocky ledge or teetering around a boulder with the canyon falling away to our right.

We came to one series of particularly challenging step offs, three large ones in total. I almost smacked into Randy’s ass as he came to an abrupt halt on the second tier. We dismounted and I whipped out the camera. Aaron came gracefully sailing down, in control looking icy pro! Mark came in. On the second ledge he was forced to turn tight to make the last step off. It unraveled fast and he fell hard. This guy is tough! “Did you get that picture” was all he asked me as he rolled upright.

The last few miles were a blast as I hurtled down with Randy. The sun was all but gone by now and I could see the oily darkness of the river coming closer now.

We swung onto the road to ride back to the van which Randy had left “just over a little hill.” It seemed likes miles, but finally there it was and we stacked the bikes on the roof in near darkness. The ‘klank’ (stench) in the van was almost unbearable now. I was convinced it was Randy’s old toe-jammed socks wedged into some crevice.

The hot water was sheer heaven. $2.50 with a towel for a shower at the Youth Hostel. In clean clothes we headed for Eddy McStiffs for gourmet pizza and jugs of Desert Wheat and Amber Rock Ale. That pleasant afterglow of extreme exertion coupled with a good meal set in.

No fire, no slide-show, just “night chaps” and we all crashed. A truly epic day of 30 miles of hard core riding.

Slickrock, Moab UT - Day 3

Tuesday 4th Oct
“Its all about the ride”-Mark had us kitting up early bells in the am in preparation for our ride on Slickrock. A series of weatherworn bald rocks stringing out like giant beads making for a rollercoaster ride of fast, slippery down hills and brutal uphill climbs where the front wheel barely makes contact.

I started out slow at the back fighting muscle burn, short breath and aching shoulders. I watched impressed as Jerome tackled everything head-on with his Bianchi single-speed. How the hell he does it I don’t know.

The views were spectacular and the cloud cover was a welcome relief from what could have been searing sun. The canyons that dropped down shear to the Colorado River were off to our right as we rode on a faint hint of a trail on the side of smooth rock. Any loss of traction would definitely be bloody.

We traversed to the furthermost end of the Slickrock loop. There was a cave right up on top of a rocky bluff that Randy suggested we visit. To get there you had to ride up a narrow, seriously steep chute. We all gave it a whirl. Only ‘The Man’ Lackman did it effortlessly. From the cave we had fabulous views of the trail we had ridden to get here. The painted white lines on the rocks marked the trail like bread crumbs.

I was breathing easier now and the up hills posed less of a problem. Every time I looked, I would see Tim bulleting out in the lead. Mountain Man, no doubt!

The clouds were threatening now as we head back to close off a 14 mile ride. As we got back to camp the temperature plummeted. It began to drizzle, then fall and then pelt.

Flight of the Icarus

Monday, 3^rd Oct.

Up at 7am to pack up the camp. Couldn’t believe it when I heard that some of the lads had gone for a night ride in the early hours of the morning. Tanked up, there were apparently some interesting weaving techniques employed.

By 8am we were sitting down at Pancho Villas on the Main Street of Fruita. The place was filled with locals. Some wore Stetsons, some base-ball caps and others purple grey hairstyles. It was interesting to see patrons chugging down their coffee while sucking on their cigarettes…far cry from the smoke free zone of Wausau. Bobby would have loved this joint.

We were served a scrumptious breakfast. I was faintly alarmed when I saw the majority of lads order breakfast burrito. I reckon we have had enough of the spicy food by this point. The flatulence was getting to be an epidemic.

We picked up spares at Over The Edge bike shop across the street. Troy who was serving up coffee in his shop is the legend that wrote the ‘Fat Tire Guide to Fruita.’ I splashed out and bought a new Camelbak as my old one was worn out and leaked all over my crotch while I rode. In the shop there was a red headed woman sporting a lightening bolt tattoo on her arm. On her feet she had clipless-shoes. A hard-core mountain biker. A little while later I saw her unloading some gear from her vehicle. ‘Spirit of Adventure’ was splashed over the side. Pots, pans, bikes, wheels and water canisters hung off the truck like confetti.

I walked over to the garage to meet the chaps who were getting some ice and fuel. Huge Super Duty 4x4 trucks lined the streets parked next to smaller 4x4’s stacked with bikes. Three guys sat outside one of the coffee chops swapping gossip and spitting tobacco juice onto the lamp post.

Jerome was completely taken by the small centre park that he walked through to get to the garage. “You see that shit? That park was covered in dog shit….like the trees had rained it or something”

After a bit of searching we found the end of the ‘Flight of the Icarus’ trail where we left Tom’s car before heading up the pass to finally park at an altitude of 8700 ft. We kitted up.

The guide book said to expect two steep up hills trails. They were super correct on that score. Trying to pace myself I dismounted and walked it with some of the other chaps. Not Tom. He beetled past me and the rest. I kept expecting him to call it quits, but he kept on going until the top. I was impressed!

It was a lot cooler today with a lovely mountain breeze cresting the trees. The sky was martini blue and the valleys poured out beneath us. We got to a sign that said that the only permitted traffic were hikers and people walking their dog. We passed on and soon came to a ledge. To the right was a 800 metre drop. My tires crunched on the loose shale rock as I avoided looking to my right. Not bloody pleasant at all.

Given our height, I knew there was going to be some serious descents required. It was a fabulous ride. Riding a ridge that stretched out like the bowsprit of a yacht, we dropped off. Down. Fast and rocky. It was superb. I leaned back and let the front wheel pick its course. At that moment I was so chaffed that I had my new Specialized Enduro Expert, it was pleasure on a roll!

At one point we came to an exposed section where the wind was stupendous. It hit us like a baseball bat. Even though I had traction it steered me to the edge on my left. At one point Randy was holding his bike as it flew horizontally in the wind! We got to the bottom of that run and consulted the book. “Left at dead tree 2.8 miles. A wild descent.” Sounded excellent!

We hung a left at the designated spot. Sweeping chutes of hardened pack littered with embedded rocks and sprinkled with a generous assortment of loose rocks. Took me back to Lesotho days. I took it as hard and fast as I could. I would not have wanted anything else but disc brakes right then.

I shot out the last chute onto a green plain. Aaron and I headed out the line back to Tom’s car. An amazing trail and 12 miles in total.

We collected Randy’s van and Aaron’s Pathfinder before saying adios to Tom who left for home.

We attempted to find Westwater Mesa trail but as “only 3 or 4 people in the United States know of its location” according to Mr. Lackman, we gave up and headed for Moab, Utah.

Found an amazing camp site in the curve of huge sandstone rocks right up on top. Randy’s kebabs were a hit before we sat down to check the images taken for the day.

Day One - More Blood

We went for a 6 mile warm up loop on a trail called Joe’s Ridge. The air cut my throat like a thin wire. It was dreadful. It really was not that challenging at all, but I quickly fell to the back of the line. Jerome, ever the gentleman waited for me. There he was…. on a single speed, first year riding waiting for me. We got back to camp and I spitting up phlegm. There was no way in hell I was riding the next section they were planning on.

Tom arrived from Denver. We loaded his bike on the van, packed what we needed for the day and left the camp site for town where (Jerome was aghast that were might not provision up with more beer!). Half a dozen Hall menthol lozenges and two Gatorades and I was beginning to feel ok…sort of.

We drove out to the trailhead where we unloaded. It was midday. The heat washed over us and as I peered up the ravines where we were heading I simply wasn’t a happy camper. We watered up and headed out.

It was rather spectacular. Tom belted down off the road and dropped in on the single track. Too fast. He tried to jump the rocks and it didn’t execute as expected. We all stopped about 10 feet from him in shock as he shot to his feet. There HAD to be something broken. 8 minutes into the ride and man down! He was fine, just a pinch flat which he changed.

The first section of the ride was ‘More Fun’ affectionately known by the locals as ‘More Blood.’ Imagine looking at the top of a mountain and spying little goat tracks zigzagging back and forth up it—that was ‘More Fun.’ I was sure that I have a seizure going up there. It was rocky, bouncy, steep and hot. Everything I thought I wanted to avoid for the day given my morning ride experience.

Finally we got to the crest and the 360-degree view was incredible. I was suddenly breathing on. “Game On” as Mark is fond of saying. A little later Tim crashed hard deeply bruising his side on a knife-like rock. And then came the succession of punctures. 12 in total for the ride! It was ridiculous, but they were always welcome photo opps.

We passed onto Mack’s Ridge. We climbed and climbed and then raced down the other side with three punctures slowing us down. We connected with Lions Loop and then onto Mary’s. It was a thread-like trail on the edge, and I mean on the edge with the river below.

“Horse Thief is a must-do” we were told with authority by Mark. The entrance to the trail is a series of giant steps which need to be negotiated with bike hoisted high. By now it was getting on into the afternoon. It was a fabulous trail dipping and rolling and fast. I was still feeling good following Tim, Tom and Mark.

Aaron never ceases to amaze me. His technical skill is lovely to watch. Tom is a very strong rider. After a steady start, Tim shot out and was often in the lead, another very strong rider. Randy moved back and forth, stopping a few times to take ‘action’ shots of us. Mark was solid, as Chickering always is.

The last haul was to get out of the bowl of Horse Thief. By now, we were all whacked. “That Coors is calling for me” Jerome called out behind me. We got back to the huge series of steps we had used to descend onto Horse Thief. Carrying our bikes up there on this time was brutal!

Fast run down Mary’s towards the car. I was close behind Tim up in frost and we were hammering. It felt marvelous to be closing an amazing ride…all 22 miles of it as the sun set to my ride. ‘Psssst…’ Tim had a pinch flat literally a mile from the van. I tossed him the last tube we had amongst us; one that I picked up from a store in Wausau called Rib Mountain Cycles. Tim threw the tube in and used a cylinder to pump it up. It deflated immediately. Bum tube! He walked it out.

Back at camp Tim drummed up spaghetti which put a perfect cap on the day. After the slide-show of all the images we shot today, I heard “What about a 5 or 6 miles night-ride.” I moved delicately off to write this blog. No bloody way in hell I was going to mount my sore ass on a saddle tonight!

Arrived

We traveled through the picturesque town of Vail. As we headed up a large incline, the van hesitated, sputtered and idled to a halt just as Mark turned into rest area. It was just before a mile long tunnel. Had the van decided to stop the proceedings there, it could have been ugly.

After a number of prognosis’s were offered, the van started back up and ran smoothly, so we took off again. We bought a spare fuel filter in Silverthorne just in case it was causing the problem.

After passing through Grand Junction at sunset, there the sign stood: Fruita 13 miles! We picked up some provisions in Fruita before driving out to the camp site beneath the Bookcliffes.

1384 miles in total in 22 hours!

Mark conjured up a brilliant chili meal which went down a treat. Except..that within half an hour the gourmet treat was making itself known around the fire through a number of enriched exercises of flatulence.

Jerome and I kipped early in his two man tent while Randy stayed up waiting for Aaron who was joining our group.

Jerome and I were up to see sunrise at 6:18am and get the fire going. Not sure what he is feeling, but there is a certain amount of trepidation about riding for a week with these hard-core riders. Last night Mark was giving us a quick informal briefing as he ate his chili, headlight strapped to his forehead below his red cap. “We’ll do a 5 miles warm up loop through Dead Man’s Rift and then pack up and drive over for a nice 30 mile loop which will include Devils Cauldron, Bent Fork Ridge and Gut Wrenching Decent (names invented, but along these lines. Believe me). Keeping saying to myself that if I just take it slow and easy, I have the staying power, yes I do, yes I do…etc. etc.