Anderson in the Snow

Since the snow fell last week, I'd been thinking about getting out for a ride in it. The sun had hardly shown its face for days and it had been even longer since the temperature rose above freezing, so the ground under the snow was frozen solid.

I pulled off the feathery light but not-so-knobby rubber Santa Cruz stocked on my Nickel, and replaced it with a set of nearly new IRC Trail Bears I had on the rack in the basement. The Bears are 2.25 inches wide with a tread suitably aggressive for soft stuff. From the cabinet in the garage I pulled out my Moose Mitts and my neoprene booties, popped the Nickel onto the van, dumped Quinn at a friend's house, and headed for the trail.

Some of Michigan's bike trails become ski trails in the winter and are closed to bikes for the duration of the season. Others, such as those at Anderson, were built by cyclists for use by cyclists and stay open year round.

At the trail head for the green loop at Anderson Park, I could see that not a single bike had been on the trail since the snow fell a week ago. There were many deer prints and a few sets of human footprints, but no tire tracks. I wasn't even sure this would work. It might be too slick, my tires might just spin, or it might be too hard to keep the bike on the trail, I might slide off and just fall over. I expected the biggest challenge to be simply finding the trail on the snowy forest floor. Anderson Park has no markings on the trees to help the winter user find the way.



Despite my concerns, the ride turned out to be very nice. The snow was pleasantly fluffy and a few inches deep, so it was easy enough to ride in and didn't even stick to my bike. I had some trouble finding the trail in several places, but eventually worked it out, usually by following a gentle hint of contour in the snow, but sometimes only by following the dear tracks, and I managed to ride the entire loop. In one section, after a wrong turn and a little meandering, I found myself back on the trail but riding the wrong direction. One segment of trail was buried under a very large newly fallen tree, which required a bit of bush-wacking to circumnavigate.



It took nearly an hour for me to get around the whole loop, which is about three times as long as usual, but route finding and branch removal made it slow. Anyone who rides it in the days that follow will be able to use my tracks and ride it a bit faster, as long as they watch out for those few places where I took a wrong turn.

Even at 25 degrees, my Moose Mitts kept my hands toasty warm (almost too warm) with a light pair of gloves underneath, and my neoprene booties kept my feet comfortable. On my legs I wore a pair of tights with my bike shorts, and on top a lightweight long-sleeved wool under-layer, a thin long-sleeved running top, and my Gore cycling jacket. With an old wool cap under my helmet I was quite comfortable. When I finished my bike was so clean it hardly looked like I'd been riding.

I only wished I'd had more time.

Almost Christmas?

Probably not unlike the days of most households with school-aged children, our days have been just packed. Piano lessons on Monday night, basketball practice Tuesday night, basketball practice Wednesday night, Cub Scouts Thursday night, and is it ever Friday night? Saturday school and more basketball. Usually some play dates on the weekend, and the occasional trip to the bike trails. House work and chores on Sunday. And the occasional trip to the bike trails.

I changed jobs in mid-October; now I'm trying to work from home a few days a week to avoid a lengthy drive to the office. We bought a second car in early October so that when I do make the 35-mile trip to work I won't leave the rest of the family without. That means, sadly, you lucky readers of the blog won't be reading any more of my rants and complaints about trying to commute to work by bicycle during the winter. Or ever, for that matter. Looks like that era has come to a close. Want to buy a Ute?

Cindy has been working every weekday at Playmakers, along with one weekday evening, usually Monday night, and then all day Saturday. It's a fun job with lots of good perks, so nobody's complaining much. Tonight she's been baking tasty cookies for the coming yearly cookie exchange. More on Cindy later.

Abbey's loving middle school, of course. Made straight A's on the first report card, which is almost a surprise given how haphazardly and disorganizedly she approaches her homework and studying. Of course, she'd have been severely punished for anything less. Her piano and trumpet playing are coming along nicely. We attended her first band concert last week, and were really impressed with the quality of the performance, given the most of the 60 or so members of the band were sixth graders who had been playing for only a couple of months. Band meets every day and the kids are required to practice 20 minutes a day at home. Their efforts were evident.

Quinn is loving and terrorizing second grade. He's had fewer discipline issues this year and seems happier. I think he's making an effort to make good choices even when it goes against the flow, but sometimes the current wins. I can't blame him. Quinn's piano playing is also coming along really well. Occasionally he picks up the trumpet, but we're not really pushing that one yet. After Abbey's band concert, Quinn expressed an interest in the bassoon. Of course, he'd like to be spending more time at the skate park, but it's just hard to fit it all in.

Mostly, I think Cindy and I just try to hang on to all the bits and pieces and loose ends so nothing too critical gets lost as the time train bounces down the tracks. Inevitably we lose a few but we hope the loss is mostly limited to less important stuff like sweeping dog hair off the floor, yard work, washing the car(s), and putting away the kids shoes. It could be a lot worse. Well, the dog hair couldn't.

Finally, some rambling notes about running and bicycling:

On Thanksgiving Day, we all got up and ran the Lansing Turkeyman Trot. That is, Cindy, Abbey, and I ran the 5k. Quinn was kind enough to sit it out this year to keep Grandma Sharon company on the side lines. We were very proud of Abbey for running her first 5k. She and Cindy ran the full distance together. I was too impatient to hold back and run with them, but it was great to watch them finish together. "Watch out, Mom..."

Yesterday we got our first real snow of the year, which was really just a meager 5 inches or so, but it was the latest in the year the snow has held off since we moved to Michigan. This delay allowed us to squeeze in a few late season trail rides despite the fact that my brand new bike frame had to be replaced due to a little tiny crack in a weld. It might have gone years without failing, but Santa Cruz made it really easy for me to swap out the defective frame for a brand new one, and the delay only cost me two weekends of riding. The best part was that I got the opportunity to strip the whole thing down to the frame and rebuild it!

So my new office is 35 miles away from our house and I won't be doing it by bike. That's kind of sad, but if I continue to be able to work from home at least three days a week, I'll actually save time relative to the time spent on the daily commute. The time savings may be nice, but the lack of a daily ride will certainly come at a significant cost to my daily fitness routine. One positive note is that my new office is only three miles away from one of my favorite bike trails, the Murray Lake Trail at Brighton Recreation Area. I'm hopeful that once the snow is gone and the sun stays up past 5, I'll be able to take my Nickel (beautiful isn't it?) with me to work once a week and get in a good ride before I head home. We'll see how often that happens, but it's worth a shot.

What's happened to our tandem cycling? Our poor tandem bikes hardly got off the wall in 2010. A few miles, a few rides here and there. It wasn't really planned, but mountain biking sort of took over this year. Maybe the tandems were one piece that fell from the time train in 2010. In 2009, running took over and the tandems saw less use than in 2007 and 2008. We'd like to keep the tandems and the running and the mountain biking all in the mix (along with everything else), but it's hard to get it all in. We're still trying to shape our picture of 2011. There are as yet no resolutions.

Finally, I guess I should mention that despite our attempt to keep too much from slipping through the cracks, it appears that Cindy has lost track of her mind: last week she signed herself up for the Bayshore Marathon. Memorial Day Weekend 2011. I don't know what made her think this was a good idea, although this event is in a beautiful location up at the north end of our Lower Peninsula on Grand Traverse Bay. She's got a few months to prepare. The rest of the scaq will give her as much support as we can and hope that her effort is successful. It won't be easy!

Finally, risking vain exhibitionism, I'll post this self-portrait. After all, it's my blog, and I can do what I want:



Quinn has almost completed a similar portrait of himself. I hope to post his when it's complete.

Happy Holidays and Good Night.

Time for October

Time is evasive. Each time I try to find time I cannot. A small hint of time might be visible between this or that, but try to capture it and it will be gone.

Yet we accrue it even though we cannot catch it. Happy birthday to my Grandma D. She's been accruing time for quite a few years, now. I hope she's been able to catch a bit of it during her years.

Last night, Abbey had five friends over for a spook-tacular sleep over. How many times did we have to tell those girls it was time to go to sleep? The clock said 1:00 a.m. and they were still chattering and giggling. And texting?

I still have not found time to post photos from the last few days of our Colorado trip. I hope to do it sometime before this fall slips away. We had a great time in the desert around Grand Junction with the Diddawah and I would like to share it.

A few weeks ago we squeezed in a short camping trip. One might think that meant we found time to go camping, but the truth is that we didn't really have time, we just did it anyway -- we crammed it in between this and that even though it really didn't fit.

The theft of three of our bikes on our return trip from Colorado was disheartening, but the lost bikes have been replaced, and Abbey and I have been enjoying our new bikes. Quinn has adjusted to having not gotten a new bike. At about the same time the new bikes arrived, Cindy was afflicted by some sort of shoulder muscle problem. Over Labor Day Weekend, a muscle in her left shoulder became knotted and excruciatingly painful. For several days she was nearly unable to function. A few trips to physical therapy took most of the knot out, but she was left with numbness and pain in her left arm, from shoulder to fingers. Among other things, this meant she has been completely unable to ride her new bike until this weekend. Today she rode and had no pain and no numbness!!

Today was a perfect day for a ride at Anderson Park. We felt a few light rain drops when we arrived, but the sprinkles passed and then the sky was mostly sunny most of the time. The forest was beautiful, the ground and trail layered with intensely yellow maple leaves. We couldn't have asked for a nicer October day to ride.

To push ourselves beyond our easy trail pace, Cindy and I added a little time trial to today's ride. We've been falling behind in our exercising and wanted to be sure we burned some calories and fatigued some muscles. Here's Cindy on her Superlight just after finishing her timed run around the green loop:



Abbey took this photo of me finishing my timed loop with a little air. It appears that she'd like to cut off my head!

Rain, of course.

New Bike 3

The Nickel has arrived. This is the replacement for my stolen Cannondale Rize. The Nickel is new model from Santa Cruz. It's a simple single pivot rear suspension like the classic Santa Cruz Superlight, but it has an extra link in the system that slightly alters the shock rate throughout the suspension travel. Check it out here, if you want.

A nice looking bike in white, isn't it? My first choice probably would have been the color "chocolate" but none were available. I haven't had the chance to really get it out and ride it hard on a trail yet, but I've ridden it to school and back with Quinn, once to work and back, and Quinn and I got in a little bit of trail in a couple of the local parks. That's probably getting close to 10 miles. Now the weekend is here...

So far, I think the Nickel is going to be great. When I first climbed on, it seemed a little shortish in the top tube, and I briefly feared I was going to wish I'd ordered the next size up. This one is a large, and there is an extra large available, but the size chart from Santa Cruz put me squarely in the middle of the large size range. After riding it to work, mostly on roads, I began to think the shortish feeling resulted from the 90mm stem that came with bike. Although the shorter stem is clearly the norm now for "trail" and "all-mountain" machines, I really felt like I wanted just a little more weight over the front wheel. I looked around in my parts bin and found I had a Ritchey 105mm stem that would work, so made the swap. It's only a 15mm difference, but it really seems to make a big difference in how it feels. With the 105mm stem it feels perfect. The seat height is just an inch or two above the bars, which should be great for me on Michigan's trails.



Quinn made me ride it off the deck while he took pictures...

New Bikes -- 2 of 3

I haven't finished writing up the Colorado trip, but I'm anxious to post photos of some new bikes. Since, on our drive home from Colorado, some lost souls chopped three of the four bikes from the top of our van and stole them, we've sadly undertaken the task of finding replacements. Obviously, it's great fun to get new bikes, but under such circumstances, the feeling is bitter sweet.

Partially to keep things simple, but largely because of a general fondness for Santa Cruz Bicycles, we selected three bikes of the same brand we could order from one shop. We were able to get some cost savings this way, too. It took a couple of weeks for Santa Cruz to gather up the bikes and get them shipped, which seemed a little too long, but all three bikes were scheduled to arrive Friday (the day before yesterday, as of this post). We'd had hopes of hitting some trails this weekend, but it was just my luck that only two of them made it. Mine missed a transfer at the UPS hub outside of Chicago and won't be here until Monday. I've spent far more time waiting for bikes and parts this year than I have riding them!

We replaced Cindy's stolen Superlight with another Superlight. This one is red. It's so red that our camera is befuddled, coming up with splashes of orange and yellow and white that are not evident to the human eye. Is it the real chameleon? This bike is brand new, whereas the old was mix of old and new.




Abbey's Kona, which had been Heather's Kona, has been replaced by this green Chameleon (which photographs without optical confusion). The Kona was very nice, quite quick and light, with the 1990s cross country geometry. The Chameleon not as light, and is in many ways a rather different bike, but it's named the Chameleon because it is based on a very versatile frame that could serve a variety of purposes, from racer to jumper, depending out how it's set up. It will be Abbey's until she outgrows it, and then we hope it will have many more riders in years to come.




Interestingly, Abbey and Cindy are now similarly sized enough that they can switch back and forth between bikes without even adjusting the saddle height.

When the other bikes were stolen, Quinn's was left sitting alone on top of our car. Although he was probably quite glad that his bike was not stolen, it's been tough for him to watch the rest of the family select replacement bikes. He's handled it very well.

Here he is navigating the steps off the deck behind our house on his old Trek. What's he doing with his tongue??



And catching a bit of air at the pump track...

Crested Butte - Day 5

We saved for last our most wild and crazy day in Crested Butte. After a few morning hours spent cleaning up several days of dirty clothes, dog towels, and dinosaurs scattered about the cabin, we drove uphill to the ski resort town of Mt. Crested Butte. We purchased a full round of all day passes at the Crested Butte Mountain Resort, which included lift tickets as well as access to rock climbing, miniature golf, and bungee jumping.

Obviously, there was no snow, so we weren't going skiing. We were getting a taste of lift-served mountain biking, an activity that I can imagine could be quite addictive. My first thought was that taking the lift up the mountain rather than pedaling should be considered lazy -- or even cheating. Maybe it should, but it was really fun and I'm very glad we gave it a try.

On Mt. Crested Butte, there is a nice selection of bicycling trails to choose from. Some are long smooth "cross country" trails that wind around the mountain, flat and even slightly uphill in places. Others fall into the category of "downhill" and take a more direct route down the mountain.

At first the kids were a little anxious about the ski lift, since there were no seatbelts, and sitting loosely on a little seat with feet hanging in the air a hundred feet above the rocky ground felt precarious. They enjoyed the thrill of it, I think. We could sit four to a chair but our bikes had to come up after us, each bike hanging on the back of an empty chair. At the top, the lift attendant unloaded each bike and handed it gently to it's owner, who had to haul it down some wood stairs to the open gravel area that was the trailhead.

For the first ride, Heather stayed down with Cailan while the rest of us went to the top. Chris tested out some of the longer cross country trails on his own while we scaq started out with the trail rated the easiest. It was called "Luge" and was described as "a wider gravity assisted singletrack trail that flows through moderate terrain featuring man made berms and rollers."

The Luge trail started out slightly rocky with a few steep downhill sections that exceeded Quinn's fear tolerance. I tried yelling at him, but that just made it worse. Cindy couldn't yell at him because her sore throat was preventing her from talking, let alone yelling. Eventually, he realized the hills were well within his ability, and just looked scary from the top.

After its bumpy start, the Luge left the rocks and became a very gentle trail, smooth and winding, wide and fast, as its name would suggest. We flowed down the mountain like rushing water. The kids loved it. I loved it. With all the rain, the surface was soft and grippy, muddy in places. I followed Quinn at nearly 20 miles an hour, thrilled to watch him catching controlled (usually) chunks of air as he bunny-hopped the frequent rollers. Fear and inexperience, maybe a rational sense of self-preservation, kept the kids from letting loose of the brakes and making full use of the berms around the corners.

Heather and Abbey on the lift:



The view from the top was nice, despite the cloudy wet weather.



Cindy following Quinn along one of the cross country trails.



Heather, Chris, and I took one ride on a newer more challenging cross country route called "Westside." The description stated:

Westside is an epic new piece of single track that will keep you smiling. Flowing trail sections through forests of aspen and pine are the highlight of this ride.

It was indeed brand new; some sections looked like perhaps the grass had been cleared from the path only a few days before. We wondered if more than a handful of riders had yet ridden the trail. It was fun and challenging, and took us a little further away from the civilization of the resort. Here's Heather coming out of a uniform stand of aspens. Can you see her broken finger?



Q&A each climbed the artificial rock. I told Abbey that if she failed to make it to the top, she would not eat for the rest of the day. She's a growing girl, usually hungry, and made a strong and steady climb to the bell at the top.



All three kids got in two rounds each of bungee jumping - the first round in the rain. This looked fun, too. After being clipped in while standing on the trampoline, the bungee cords were wound tight with an electric motor, and the victim was lifted into the air. The attendant then pulled the victim down to the trampoline, just like a slingshot, and the poor child was launched into the air.

Here's Cailan getting ready to fly:



Quinn, after the launch:



Back on the bikes, Heather and Abbey went racing down the Luge again, hair blowing in the wind. Are their smiles expressions of joy, or is the wind in their faces pushing their cheeks back as they surpass the speed of sanity?



Speaking of sanity, or lack thereof, Chris and I did a couple of trips down a trail called "Avery."

Avery is the Downhill race course for the annual Wildflower Rush. Avery throws a little of everything your way as you descend through pine forest, rock gardens, fast open terrain, and man made jumps.

Avery simply zig-zagged under the ski lift. The trail probably represented an upper limit of downhill difficulty for me and my RZ. Although I must admit to bypassing the biggest drop, which I would estimate was more than 6 feet if not 10, we did quite well together. Its 140mm suspension fork got me through some very challenging rock gardens at high speed unscathed, much to my surprise. Much more of that sort of trail though, and I'd be looking for a purpose-built downhill bike with 8 to 10 inches of fork travel -- and perhaps a full face helmet and some body armor.

On our second trip down Avery, Cindy and Abbey rode the lift down while Chris and I rode the trail. They were able to get some nice pictures of us speeding down, but the jumps and rock gardens were mostly in the trees hidden from view. It seemed that every time Chris and I shot out of the trees, we'd see the them on the lift. Even with a couple of minor crashes (Chris's was quite impressive and acrobatic), Chris and I still got down the mountain before Cindy and Abbey.



When the ski lift closed at the end of the day, we drove to Grand Junction.

Crested Butte - Day 4:

On the fourth day in Crested Butte, Heather and Chris spent the first part of the day with the kids while Cindy and I took our bikes out for an epic adventure. Most writers suggest that if you have just one day in Crested Butte, you should spend it on the 401 Trail. That's what Heather and Chris did the day before, and Cindy and I really considered it. Maybe we should have.

We decided instead to ride Reno Ridge. I think I felt drawn to Reno Ridge because of past experiences hiking and biking along ridge trails. Once you're up, the views can be splendid. Cindy and I (and even Dale and I, if you think back far enough) have ridden some really nice single track on ridge trails in the past, too.

Our plan was to follow Cement Creek Road to 759 Road, which would take us up to Reno Ridge. From there we would follow the Reno Ridge Road southwest to Reno Ridge Trail, which would take us down to Deadman Gulch Trail. On Deadman Gulch Trail we would drop precipitously through the infamous Deadmans Gulch switchbacks to return to our starting point at Cement Creek.

To get started we simply had drive a few miles up Cement Creek Road to the Deadman Gulch Trailhead. On the map below, our route is displayed in a big fat brown line. We didn't get GPS points right at the beginning so our track picks up about a quarter mile late. Also, note that little jump at the beginning in the elevation profile: it's not real, regardless of what the GPS receiver thought.



On the drive up we passed a few groups of motocyclists, the off-road types, camped in pull-offs along the road. Many of the trails in the area are open to motorized travel, including the route we had planned.

We reached the trailhead around 8 a.m. and found only one other car in the parking area. We unloaded the bikes; there were only two, the RZ and the Superlight. It seemed odd, heading off on a big ride without Q&A. Rarely do Cindy and I do this sort of thing alone. Of course, Amos was coming along, so we weren't really alone. The air, chilly and damp, felt like air often does at the start of something exciting. Anticipation smells nice.

For roughly the first mile we continued a gradual climb on the road beside Cement Creek. The road was narrow and in some places rocky, probably impassable for a vehicle like our van; easy on our bikes and there was not a car in sight. We crossed Waterfall Creek where it joined Cement Creek.

We started climbing away from Cement Creek on a short connector trail and began to encounter some steeper climbs. The terrain was soft and sandy, and generally easy to ride. There were a few low, wet spots.

The climb up the side of Reno Ridge was steady, and we were slow. Although Cindy and I were pedaling (and occasionally walking) at a snail's pace, Amos was running. Running ahead to see what was coming. Running back to meet us. Running up the hillside. Leaping back down to the road. We told him we had many miles to go, and that he should pace himself, but he wouldn't listen.

Just after we took this picture, I had my biggest crash of the day. Cindy and I had stopped to find some breath, taken some pictures, and when we started riding again I somehow swerved left toward her, then over-corrected to the right to avoid hitting her, and was slightly off balance as my front wheel connected the rock in the picture. At perhaps 2 miles per hour, I fell onto my right side, landing solidly on my hip and banging my helmet against the ground. Uphill mountain biking is a dangerous activity.

Between miles two and four, we climbed from an elevation of 10,000 ft to 11,000 ft. A thousand feet in two miles doesn't seem like it should be all that bad, but it took us a while. Cindy had been suffering from a bad sore throat and some sinus congestion. Battling the virus didn't likely help her stamina.

At one point during the climb we heard the distant buzzing of a swarm of giant wasps. The buzzing grew louder and we pulled of the trail and held on to our dog. A swarm of dirt bikes, engines screaming, blasted past us leaving behind a wake of exhaust and churned earth.

As we approached Reno Ridge, the trail flattened out and the forest opened up. The views were spectacular. The sixth mile of the ride was one of the nicest.

A picture of my RZ on Reno Ridge. Who would have thought it would never make it back to Michigan?


Reno Ridge Road was not as we had hoped. Scenic, yes, and rolling, yes, but the amplitude of the rolling was too great. Each climb was very steep, and the sandy surface of the road was soft and deep from the continual spinning of ATV and motorcycle tires. Each downhill was fun and furiously fast, but each climb was a significant push: never a switchback or traverse, always a direct line to the top. Thirty minutes up, three minutes down. Clearly, the road had not been laid out for non-motorized travel. Here, Cindy ascends yet another roller.

We'd come only half way, maybe seven miles, but how many miles had Amos run? Ten? Fifteen? As we approached the southern end of Reno Ridge Road, Amos was getting tired, too. Here's a nice cool, wet spot to lie down.

The best part of the ride, I was certain, would be Reno Ridge Trail. Although we were at the top of the world and the scenery was great, Reno Ridge Road had been a bit of bust, as far as a ridge ride was concerned. The Ridge Trail would be better, right?

Well, maybe in some places. At least it was mostly down hill. Unfortunately, much of it looked like the picture below. The path was heavily used by motorcycles, and cut so deeply by there was often no place for our pedals.

Parts of it were ridable, and there were a few fun rocky sections, but too much of it was a mess. It was also very wet. The trail was flat enough that drainage was not great, so deep pools of water filled the trough that was our trail. In places it reminded me of a submerged pump track, with only the crests of the rollers above water. Our gradual descent on Reno Ridge Trail, from miles eight to 10, was not the most fun a person could have on a bicycle.

It was in the best spot in this section of the trail that Cindy took a spill. I was working my way across some sharply angled rock in the trail, alongside a steep drop into a small rocky creek. It was tricky because there was sand on the rock and I was a little worried my tires would slide out from under me, and the bicycle and I would tumble into the creek. I'd just cleared it when I heard Cindy cry out. I quickly dismounted and ran up toward her where she lay in a heap with her bike. She wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but it appeared that perhaps in sliding back on her saddle to nose over some rocks, she slid too far and gone right off the back of her bike!

While I had expected Reno Ridge to be a great ride, I was a little worried about the descent through the Deadman Gulch switchbacks. The trail guides indicated the switchbacks were steep, rocky, eroded, and difficult. I was worried that they would be too steep to ride, and that we - or especially Cindy - might find them too challenging or intimidating. I pictured the worst-case scenario of a semi-technical scramble from a rock climber's perspective, and I pictured doing it while trying to lower a bicycle down through big boulder fields. I was wrong about that, too.

As it turned out, once we hit the Deadman Gulch Trail, the ride was a blast. It was indeed steep, technical, and in places wet and badly eroded, but motorized travel had been restricted to the downhill direction, so the surface was firm, less churned by spinning knobs. The trail was also fast, fun, and challenging. Just what I needed after a day of slow grinding up steep slopes, muddy water, and channelized trail. Sometimes it was so fun I had to yell.

Through more than 30 switchbacks, the pattern was often the same: Start with a steep, screeming fast descent with a few big rocks thrown in for some good air. The rocks increase in size and frequency near the switchback, and the trail steepens. Hit the brakes, slow down, slide back on the saddle, noodle your best line through the boulders, let the front wheel drop into the big pool of opaque water that might be 3 inches or a foot deep, slowly roll it through the tight switchback. Now, do it again.

Here's a smooth one Cindy did with ease:

This next one was steep. The picture just doesn't do it justice. Approaching a steep spot like this, it's often hard to see how far the ground drops away after each rock in the trail. It takes confidence and willingness to risk a fall. This one psyched her out:

Near the bottom, as the trail approached Cement Creek, the switchbacks became less frequent, the ride smoothed out, and we were given a nice chance to relax and let our brake rotors cool as the ride wound down. It had been a really tough ride for us. In many places it had not been fun, but it did have some nice rewards, and it ended well.

Back near the trailhead, crossing Cement Creek was a new experience for Amos. It took some effort to coax him across the log. Once he'd done it, he ran back and forth across it many times as Cindy and I shuttled the bikes across. No, we didn't ride across the log.

Once across the creek, it was just a short distance to the van, and in no time at all we were back at the cabin. We found the three kids was playing in the creek beside the cabin. They were having a great time catching invertebrates, and needed the help of an expert for identification. Amos jumped right in. The usual larvae were all there: mayflies, stoneflies, caddisflies, and of course some true flies. It seemed that everyone had had a great morning and they had already eaten lunch. Cindy and I went into the cabin to rest and refuel. After that, we were ready for another ride.

Crested Butte - Day 3

On the third day, Heather and Chris got an early start and took their tandem for a ride on the 401 Trail. That's their story and I'll let them tell it.

Scaq stayed behind with Cailan. We started our day with plenty of coffee, a leisurely breakfast, and some laundry. The kids played with dinosaurs, told stories, and built robots. After breakfast we went into Crested Butte to play at a park. Cailan was most interested in the musical playground equipment at one end of the park, while Quinn and Abbey focused on climbing a large boulder at the other end. The weather was nice, the park was full of well-behaved kids, parents, and dogs (not ours), and it was a good chance to relax.

Heather and Chris got back a little after noon, I think. After lunch, for our afternoon ride we decided to make another trip around the Lower Loop Trail. There aren't too many short, easy trails in the Crested Butte area, so we made good use of this one. In the parking lot before the ride, we played musical bikes. Abbey really liked the little orange (taxi yellow?) Kona, but she often took the opportunity to grab her mom's Superlight.

This time, rather than pedal up Peanut Lake Road, we backtracked a little and jumped on a fun piece of single track that ran parallel to Peanut Lake road on the hillside above it. The trail must have been on an old road bed or railroad grade; probably the latter, since it was in places covered in coal. There were a few steep spots and a few wet spots.

This was one of my favorite places further up on the Lower Loop Trail. The steep hill and smooth path made a nice opportunity to generate some speed. Careful though, the trail gets pretty narrow at the bottom...

The big climb to the upper trail was on a piece of road that sees some four-wheel drive traffic. It was steep, but probably only for a quarter mile. Here at the top we took little break to catch our breath before heading down. An old fence ran along the top, and there was quite a bit of barbed wire scrambled about on the ground. I worried that Amos might get entangled. A woman passed by on a dual suspension 29er and asked us for directions while we refueled.

This time, Scaq led the descent with the Diddiwah train bringing up the rear. I wish we'd had a video camera on Cailan's handlebars. I'd love to see what sort of expressions crossed his face while their train negotiated some of those rocky sections at high speed. Did he feel fear? Excitement? Indifference? Rarely could I see him while we were riding. I never heard him complain.

At this point, Abbey and Quinn were really having a blast on their bikes. They seemed to be growing more comfortable with the rocky trails and steep slopes, and they were tackling obstacles with increased confidence. Their confidence and the sunny weather made the second trip on the Lower Loop even better than the first!

Crested Butte - Day 2

A biking trip in Colorado's high country that includes kids of a variety of ages and adults that live at close to sea level requires some advanced planning, a few compromises, and plenty of patience. Nonetheless, it is definitely worth the trouble.

On our second day in Crested Butte, perhaps based on some silly hypothesis that my rate of acclimation to high elevation would increase if we gave it a boost, Chris and I rode the Strand Hill Trail. As Diddiwah described, the girls and kids went for a walk on the Canal Trail, which was partially shared with the Strand Hill Loop, while Chis and I took Amos and Utah and rode the loop.

It took a little exploring to find a path across what must have been the Canal, which I think was Brush Creek, a small tributary of East Creek. We crossed the creek on a small concrete structure and ascended a steep slope to connect with the Canal Trail. We used this approach to avoid a reputed knee-deep crossing of the creek near the trail head a half mile downstream. However, the grass was very wet and the trail muddy; wet feet were unavoidable on this morning.

Strand Hill is a little bump (10,241 ft) that is straight east of Mt Crested Butte (12,162 ft), with the East Creek Valley cutting between the peaks at about 9,000 ft. Once on the Canal Trail we climbed about 500 ft in a little over a mile to reach the Strand Bonus Trail. The Bonus, I suppose, was that once we reached it the trail ran parallel to the slope for nearly two miles on a nice winding and rolling single track. The trail was wet and narrow and I was breathing hard to keep up with Chris, despite the fact that we were both running in our lower gears on our little chainrings. The trail dipped in and out of many little muddy and rocky gullies; Chris cleared them all, but I struggled to get through many of them without getting hung up on the rocks.

The Bonus Trail took us to a two-track trail that ran right up to the top (nearly) of Strand Hill -- 1000 ft up in less than two miles. With few switchbacks, it was steep, wet, and rocky. Once again I struggled to keep up with Chris. My instant acclimation hypothesis just wasn't holding up. At such a slow forward speed, maintaining momentum and traction over wet rocks is a challenge. After a short break at the top, we hit the downhill.

On the Strand Hill Trail we lost those last thousand feet in no time - well, just minutes. It was slick and wet and thrilling, but I was being cautious for self-preservation. Chris paused to wait for me to catch up periodically, not that I was exactly going slow, but I'm sure I was keeping my speed under 20 mph. There were a few fun drop-offs on this trail, but one stands out in my mind: I'm already heading down at a crazy steep angle on a narrow, rock-lined trail, when a very large rock appears mostly buried in the trail in front of me. Beyond the rock is nothing; the trail drops a foot or more on the other side of the rock into a narrow and crooked chasm between large unquestionably hazardous rocks. Hoping for the best, I hit my brakes hard to burn off speed and then let the bike roll free. I slide my rear end back, maybe even behind my saddle, as the front wheel drops over the ledge. 'Squoosh', says my Fox fork. The bike is only frighteningly nose-down for a split second, the suspension fork soaking the impact and letting me keep rolling, until the rear wheel falls over the edge and I've survived the drop and quickly navigated the chasm. If I'd failed to get my weight back, or if I'd lost momentum when the front wheel dropped, what pain awaited the end of my somersault into the chasm? A broken finger, perhaps? Or worse?

A short blast down more smooth single track and we'd reached the junction with the Canal Trail. Our timing was perfect: there at the intersection was the rest of our group. They were wet and happy.

After a quick lunch back at the cabin, we headed our for our second ride of the day, with clouds threatening rain. Leaving the dogs resting in their crates, we pedaled up the Crested Butte Bike Path from the town of Crested Butte to ski area at Mt. Crested Butte. The path is very nice, mostly asphalt, some boardwalk, winding through the valley and climbing just a few hundred feet into Mt. Crested Butte.

Quinn found the climb to be a challenge, even with his ultra-low gearing. I gave him a helping hand in a few places. We simply held hands and pedaled as hard as we could (another acclimation booster for me). Look closely and you'll see a tired boy.

After a break and a snack, and a little rain, we hit the downhill singletrack of the Upper Loop Trail. It was really fun. Everyone was happy again. Below is the big rock mentioned in the Diddawah post. When Quinn and I reached the rock, everyone was sitting on it. I didn't realize it was ridable. Chris pointed out that the trail went across it and suggested I give it a shot. At first I just laughed, but then I couldn't let it go. I thought the approach was quite steep and would require some momentum along with a significant wheelie to get on the rock. Then the descent would be steep, but easy enough as long I kept everything straight on the ascent. I pedaled a little way back up the trail, turned around and gave it shot. I approached quickly to make use of momentum. An 18 inch wheelie, a squoosh, and the ascent was a success, but I drifted right a little further than planned. Cindy got the picture below while I was redirecting to the left. No worries. I straightened out and the descent was fast and easy. Additional points for style would have been awarded had I pulled a wheelie and ridden the descent on the rear wheel in perfect horizontal posture. I did not. I kept both wheels on the rock and let my Fox shock suck up the impact at the bottom. Another squoosh. That's what it's for.

After the rock, we took Tony's Trail back towards Crested Butte. Tony's Trail was just pure fun. Smooth fast single track with wide open switchbacks dropping us another 250 ft to a gravel road. Everyone was smiling after that! Look closely and you can see the whole group (except me) in the photo below, with Mt. Crested Butte in the background.