I put in a little time in my office working on a report while I waited for the sun to come up and the air to warm. A little before noon, I grabbed my Nickel and hit the road, stopping at Chipotle for a big veggie burrito to power me through the ride. I knew it would be an hour between the time I at that burrito and the time I actually started riding -- especially since I found that my bike had a flat front tire (two thorns!) when I picked it up from it's parking spot near my office. The Pine Valley Ranch Park looked very nice, being sort of tucked into a cozy, rock-lined valley. It would be great spot for a picnic and a walk on a warm sunny day.
Once I got a new tube installed, I put on my helmet and Camelbak backpack, and headed for the Buck Gulch Trail. Buck Gulch Trail starts at bridge over the North Fork of the South Platte River downstream of the lake, and quickly leaves the Jefferson County Park to enter the Pike National Forest. I'm glad there was a bridge.
Buck Gulch is a long hard grind up a loose gravelly surface. I'll emphasize "up," too, because it climbs right at 1000 ft in just over three miles, the worst being the first two. You can see from my Garmin log that my progress was very, very slow crawling up this hill. And I could feel that burrito. A very large fire burned this area in 1997 and in most places the trees are still just skeletons. There were lots of downed trees across the trail, too, many of which required a dismount to get across. Getting started on a steep gravel his is always a fun challenge. I took this photo while I made a phone call home to talk to Abbey. It was a good excuse to rest. This would have been right at the end of the second mile.
One reason this series of trails is rideable early in the season is that the surface is pretty much all gravel. There's not really much in the way of soil here, so there's nothing to make mud. Even in the few places were it was damp, it was more like wet sand than mud. The last little bit of Buck was downhill and a tremendous relief after the long steady climb. Skipper Skipper was just a blast, although I had to take it a little slower than would necessary later in the season because of the snow and ice patches that kept appearing unexpectedly in the trail.
My guide book suggested taking Charlie's Cutoff to the south to do the second loop of the figure eight counterclockwise, but I did it the other way accidentally, taking the Homestead Trail east instead. This was actually fine because the riding on Homestead in that direction was great. The trail took me across all sorts of big flat smooth rocks, which was really fun, and there even a few drops and little ledges in places, although nothing like what we had seen in Moab.
I guess I was having just too much fun going slightly downhill on Homestead and I missed the turn for Charlie's Cutoff. There was a hiker behind me who did the same thing, so it wasn't hard to do. I actually suspected that I had missed the turn, but the downhill on Homestead was so fun I just kept going. Once I crossed the creek north of Baldy Peak, I knew I'd gone too far. There was a trail junction where I stopped, so I took a little break and review my map and my options. Homestead was great coming down, so why not head back up it and go through those rocks again?
I was feeling a little tired, and with the recognition that I'd come a full mile past my turn and almost 200 ft downhill, I knew this was going to turn into a tough ride. What I did not need was a crash. The little creek I'd crossed right before I stopped had a steep bank on the south that was packed with snow and ice but I'd had no particular problem climbing up it. Going down however, I couldn't get my front wheel to grab and track in the snow, and of course braking on ice isn't very effective no matter how good your disc brakes are! So I gained uncontrollable speed in what seemed like just a couple of seconds, and then found myself veering off course to my right towards a large downed pine tree with a full complement of dry, branches pointed straight at me like spears. Most of them smashed out of the way as I plunged into the tree at about 10 mph (according to the Garmin log at that point). My Camelbak caught most of the force of the branches, but as my body came to a halt among all those spears, I immediately found myself looking around to see if I had any severe puncture wounds. Finding none, I quickly got on my bike and finished riding down the slope and crossing the creek. For some reason, it always seems like the quicker I can get back on the bike and start pedaling, the less I must have been hurt. After a crash like that, it often takes a while for the adrenaline surge (or whatever) to wear off, and that when I usually start to know where and how bad my injuries are.
I kept pedaling, but the crash had sapped my strength, or at least my resolve. Going up Charlie's Cutoff going west was seeming like a bad idea. At least half of the tread was snow and ice, so forward and upward progress was slow. I hit ten miles at that point, and the whole ride was only supposed to be 12. Eventually I made it to the junction with Strawberry Jack's, and felt relieved to turn downhill. Misfortune mocked my relief as I promptly end-o'ed in a snow drift! I was moving too quickly across a little icy snow patch when my front tire sank, and instantly I was over the bars and on the ground. Fortunately, and end-o on soft snow is actually kind of fun and not generally painful. I laughed at myself and my bike sprawled across the snow.
The snow on Strawberry Jack's soon gave way to course gravel, still with occasional snow patches just to keep me on my toes. Toes, which, were completely numb at this point, along with my fingers. As I descended -- maybe due to the wind chill from speed or maybe from cold air sinking into the valley -- I was cold. But I was going downhill again, and I was really tired, so I was happy.
This spot is on Strawberry Jack's, just before the beginning of the fun, fast, and cold descent.
The parking lot had only three cars when I got back around 4:30 p.m.
I guess my Camelbak didn't stop all of the branches. One seemed to have made it through my favorite jacket, my favorite wool shirt, and a little of my skin.
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