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.

Crested Butte - Day 1

This year we made the lengthy trek to Colorado to do some mountain biking. With our bikes, our dog, and ourselves, the old van was packed and it was a long drive. Since we had some adventures on the way home, I've been a little slow to post details of the trip. The Diddiwahs were quicker about blogging than we were, so I'll refer you to the Diddiwah blog for a detailed write-up of the first day or two. I'll just add pictures and a little text as supplementary materials.

We met the Diddiwahs in Crested Butte and spent a few days in this rustic log cabin.



After some long hours of driving, we arrived after noon on what we'll call Day 1. Despite the not-so-subtle hint of rain from the soggy clouds, after a bite of lunch and some wandering through Crested Butte, we took the bikes to a trailhead just on the northwest corner of town. Peanut Lake Road took us past Peanut Lake, up the Slate River valley, eventually ending where the Lower Loop and Upper Lower Loop trails begin. Looking back from Peanut Road, Peanut Lake and the town of Crested Butte are just visible. That's my awesome Cannondale RZ 140 in the foreground!


If you were looking at the Diddawah story, you might worry that Abbey had become one with a cow. Just to let you know she survived, I'll provide this post cow encounter photo.

After a steep climb up the south side of the valley, the descent began. It must have been a challenge for Chris to pilot that small train down the rocky trail on the side of the mountain. At least he had Heather to help pedal it up the hills. Of course, this was just the beginning; that train went places that Adams Trail-a-Bike probably never imagined. Here they've stopped to make some adjustments to the caboose while Amos and then Abbey closed the gap.

The Upper Loop and Upper Lower Loop trails were very nice, with fantastic scenery. Since they were mostly flat, not too challenging, and close to town, these trails made a great intro to bicycling some real mountain single track. I wish we could go out and ride them -- or run them -- every night after work. In this final photo, Slate Creek flows toward the town with Mount Crested Butte standing tall in the background.