Recovery

Sickness has settled into my body, specifically into the top of my neck, nose, and throat. I can barely have a conversation without exhaustion, let alone contemplate a real mountain bike ride. With my balance off as it is, I’d be lucky to make it down even the mildest downhill today. At least that’s how I feel.

So I rode to the Performing Arts Center. And watched a brilliant dress rehersal for a comedic symphonic concert tonight. The seat massaged my neck if I slouched and gently rotated my head. Heaven.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Around town

1 mile

Revolt

My body said enough. Six days of riding, one night of drinking, and two hours of sleep puts me in rather unpleasant altered states of consciousness. I’m not quite sure how I managed to ride up Slate River Road to Rick’s house to watch the Tour de France at 7 a.m., but somehow I managed. And got back without crashing horrendously, despite my body’s protests and severe unbalance. A “real” ride will have to wait.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Slate River Road to Rick’s House

4 miles

Dead legs keep moving

My legs felt dead from when I arose this morning, but somehow I still managed to fit two rides in before 2 p.m. The first was at 7:30 a.m. with Liz, and overall felt manageable. It was when I felt the exhaustion in my body after returning that I began to dread the second ride. Wildman called to get ready to go right when I was contemplating a short nap. Argh. Amazingly, my legs kept moving and by the end of the day climbing up Kebler Pass, I actually felt okay, better than at the start. This isn’t going so badly…

Friday, July 15, 2011

  1. Lupine trail to Upper Lower loop, 11 miles? with Liz
  2. Dyke Trail from Y turnoff, 14 miles with Wildman

It will justify the beer

That’s what Kevin says when we decide to do a quick spin around Lower Loop. He leads me through an aspen grove full of the most prolific Columbine patch I’ve ever seen. His intimate knowledge of the curves leaves me behind, his loving sweeps contrasting with my stuttering brakes along the curvy trail. Flow requires intimate knowledge of body, bike, and trail. I’m getting better at the first two but lacking the latter. His gorgeous riding is my envy and desire, a movement made natural by what must be known and felt, learned and embodied.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Lower Loop

9 miles

With Kevin

Limits

This was a ‘ham sandwich’ ride, or in my case, a over-baking powdered tortilla and peanut butter ride. I ate half of my biscuit-like tortilla and peanut butter sandwich at the top of the double-track climb, knowing there was more climb and thinking I needed the fuel. Okay, I ate all but two bites. The processed sugar-y peanut butter was delicious. Today I’m banking on my freaky genetic abilities to engage in mildly strenuous physical activity for periods of time unjustified by my previous exercise regime. From 11 miles to 30-ish miles, with twice the climbing or more? Why not? I’m Endura after all. This superpower relies heavily on my own bodily knowledge, knowing when and how far to push. Today I pushed too hard on that first climb on the two-track, leaving my walking my bike up the single-track climb like a sluggish dog. Have a gummi. Admire the view. Excuses, but good ones, to catch my breath and rest my burning legs. If I hadn’t done hellishly long runs and bikes before, and known my abilities, I would have been worried. Back in the saddle for the final ascent, and sit to enjoy the last two bites of that puffy tortilla. This view is like crack, providing the rush that makes the previous climb even more delicious. I’m one who enjoys the pain, so I can’t say that the view makes the climb “worth it.” Instead, the climb makes the view worth more. Uppers and downers, I’m developing an addiction to both (though on two wheels uppers are definitely my first love–the rush of the down is a bit much for me). This down is just my style, cross-country with bike-stopping views. But I am cashed. The road climb out of Gothic is my nemesis, but I prevail over that unforgiving bastard. While I could do Snodgrass if I HAD to, my body says it’s not a good idea with my tired muscles making my downhill sloppy and even the slightest singletrack uphill making me dismount. Body limits, body moves.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Deer Creek loop

30 miles, including wrong turns

Rain Ride

Rain constantly threatens these days. I find a window of sunshine. Up, up, up. Shoulda taken the bus. No, I don’t mean that. I’ll show those tourists how to climb. Ha, but what am I? Descending the clouds come in. Halfway down, drip drip drop little July shower. Muddy mess. I can’t see the view but hardly care for I am riding in a brilliant rainstorm. The drops soak my skin, my bike, pepper me with mud. I can’t help but laugh and smile a shit-eating grin Because I’m pretty sure horses frequent this trail with their little apples mixed into the dirt now flying into my face, gritty between my teeth.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Snodgrass Hill

14.5 miles

Century flowering

See those long pointed leaves, growing in little clumps? That’s right, they’re all over scattered throughout the lupines, locoweeds, larkspur…one of those purple “l” flowers. Now see that one over there with the stem taller than you? With all the little white flowers? That’s the century flower in its last gasps of life. They live for 75-100 years before flowering in full glory. Then they die. That’s right, see all those tall brown sticks, cracked and bent? That’s last year’s crop, this glorious specimen’s future.

After a long gasping climb, it’s easy to feel as if these beautiful blooming flowers are just for me. The chemicals coursing through my body enhance the beauty of the vista and these singular blooms. I know they bloom careless to my life, my climb, my concerns. But maybe that’s why they make me feel special. They are for me in their negligence of me. It’s a gasping beauty that doesn’t give a damn. It doesn’t care about my straining muscles, my beating heart. My brake-clutching descent and mud-slipping crash will not change anything out here, save wearing away the soil my tires and my bleeding leg pick up and take home.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Crested Butte downtown to Strand Hill to Strand Hill Bonus and back to town.

15 miles?

With Chuck R.

First Blush

Hesitancy, a stumble at the start. Did they notice? Of course they did. No recovering from that one. Smile and act casual, as if I meant to stop at that rock. Be cool. That’s right. Oh, the curves…they are so lovely. I follow their gentle curves and smile. My confidence grows. I am struck by their beauty. Their patches of purple whose tips I brush fill me with a rush of adrenaline. Surely I do not deserve this. I hesitate, and falter. Slow and stumble. One of us is going to get hurt and I doubt it will be you, with your welcoming promiscuous ways. You’ve seen much better than me, no doubt. And I can’t help blushing and falling for your charms. It hurts, but no blood. I can learn a thing or two from you. I will learn your contours better in the next few weeks, so close and alluring. Classic. You give a girl as single-track mind.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

First ride in Crested Butte, up Bud’s Trail, down Gothic Road to Lower Loop and back into town on the single-track connector.

7 miles or so?

A ride a day

My current project is to post something that captures the spirit of my daily mountain bike ride during my stay in Crested Butte. I am here for the month of July in order to learn how and why mountain biking began in this community and grew into a ‘mecca’ for mountain biking aficionados. Crested Butte is the disputed birthplace of mountain biking, Marin being the other top contender for that title.

Visit my Ride a Day page to read more!