After the ride to Siouxsan, Dennis and I made plans and preparations for the next day. We weren’t sure exactly what ride we’d take, but some friends of his were running the show and had assured him that they’d take my (lack of) experience and fitness into consideration. So, that night we worked on the bike I was to ride. It was in good shape, but the brakes needed some work. He had disc brakes installed, but the lines needed bleeding and the brakes some general tuning. It took a few times, but we did the best we could with what we had. After an hour, maybe two, we settled down for the evening and went to bed.
The next day, we woke early again and, with some coffee and breakfast in us, hit the road. Our first stop was a bike shop to rent a bike for Dennis. I was to ride his, and he would ride the rental. It was a while ago, but I have a smattering of memories of the shop. It was a smaller one, with, oh, maybe a few dozen bikes all told. Nice ones, if I remember right, but my idea of “nice” is a little different now than it was then.
We get the bike and make our way to the rendezvous point. It was, if I remember, slightly overcast, a touch windy and a bit on the cool side, but otherwise, very nice. We hang out waiting for the rest of the crew, hydrating and generally getting things ready. About half an hour later, all 8 or 10 of us are ready, and we take off again for the half-hour drive up to the trail head. Turns out, they’ve decided, to Dennis’ amazement and concern, to ride Gunsight Ridge. Note the trail difficulty behind that link. For the link-phoebic or lazy, it’s “Hard”. Apprehensive now, we follow them out to the trail head.
The trail head is basically a gravel parking lot right off HWY 35 that dumps right into the trees. We mount up, everything at the ready, and head out. The ride starts off very nice. Single track through lush forest, twisting and turning through the trees with some rolling (but small) hills for the first few miles. There is one point I recall, where the hill was just a little too steep, my abilities just a little too weak, and the pedals just wouldn’t cooperate. I remember getting frustrated that I couldn’t get back on the saddle once I stepped off, but I got to the top with a minimum of cursing, mounted up and was on my way again. This would be only the first of many walks, I’d come to find out.
The nice packed dirt surface eventually gave way to sand. Have you ever tried riding in sand? I’m not talking about the sprinkling of gravel you’ll find where gravel roads intersect paved. I’m talking about deep sand that can be formed by the wind. Sand that’s tough to walk through. Sand that gets in your shoes. It’s hard. It’s been established (I hope) that I’m not the accomplished biker at this point. I really don’t know what I’m doing. Sand is tortuous to me. At this point in my cycling, I still don’t like hills or wind, and sand is like going uphill into the wind on wobbly tires. It was horrendous! I can’t tell you if I ended up walking through it, b/c I honestly don’t remember, but if I didn’t, I don’t know how (or why).
The sand eventually gives way to more packed dirt and then the highway again. We stop here for lunch and a break. Apparently, as we’ve been told, the hard part is coming. So… the sand… that was the easy part. Great. There were three or four of us here at this point. Three of us pull out Clif bars and other “health” snacks, and the fourth, John, pulls out… pizza! Supreme pizza, to be more specific. Here we are, eating oatmeal and drinking Gatorade. Nuts and grass, basically, and he’s packing Pizza and coke! I tell you what, once that came out, our Clif Bark Bars were history. That was the best pizza I think I’ve ever had, and I don’t much care for supreme!
After about 20 minutes, we head out again, across the highway and… into the biggest climb I’ve ever attempted, before or since. ~3,500ft of climb in 5 miles up difficult single track with rocks, roots and dozens of switchbacks. Honestly, it was way beyond my ability at the time (and probably now, for that matter). I’m up for climbing, but the switchbacks and obstructions were beyond me. I walked up most of it… almost the entire 5 miles. Even then, it was grueling.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, we got to the top. well, what ended up being the top for me, anyway. The trail went on, and the organizers took it to it’s peak at Gunsight Ridge. Myself and a few others stayed back and rested at a little access road before heading back down.
Down. Now that’s another story altogether… and it would have been fine, had it not been for the lack of a solid rear brake. Remember our working on it the night before? It turns out there was a worn part in the hydraulic mechanism, and nothing we could have done would have given that brake any real stopping power. I think Dennis feels bad about it, but honestly, there’s nothing he could have done. Besides… it makes for a great story! I only hope I can do it justice.
So, as it stood, I had a steep descent ahead of me, with only a front brake to help. We all knew this, and there were cautions and tips and advice given all around. So, getting a little chilly, myself and John of the Pizza start heading down. John, you see, is a former BMX competitor. I’m not sure if he was ever pro, but he was definitely comfortable with the speed. He also had good brakes. For me, every switchback was an exercise in hope and fear. With only that front brake, slowing down and turning, while going downhill, next to severe dropoffs, was, to say the least, harrowing. I did pretty good though, up until that one time when I didn’t.
I’ve mentioned before how much the brain seems to be able to process when times get tough. The idea that time slows down is really the only way to describe it.
I was coming around a switchback, turning left. My speed picked up a bit too much due to the slope and I compressed the only brake I had… the front. My front wheel locked up and I went flying. Endo’d right there and over the side of the path. Here’s where things really slowed down… as I’m flying through the air, I notice some plants… roots and grass, really, growing at the edge of the cliff. I’m going over them, as I’m thinking to myself
Those look like they might hold me. I hope those will hold me. If those don’t hold me, then those trees down thataway will stop me real sudden-like. That’ll hurt. How about this… I’ll just reach out here and grab those roots while I’m in the air above them, and hope, b/c that’s all I have to work with, that they hold. Now, if there’s a rock or something on the face of that cliff that I’m going to slam into when I’m done flipping over, well… I’ll just have to deal with that when the time comes, oh… here in about an eighth of a second…
Fortunately, those roots held, and I ended up hanging from them, right-side-up, while John stood slack jawed and amazed at what just happened. After I’d hauled myself back up to the path, shoulder aching but otherwise fine, he assured me that he thought I was a goner. I, on the other hand, was thinking extremely clearly, and feeling as alive as I’d ever felt. Who knows what would have happened had those roots not held. I might have been fine, or I might have had a compound fracture of my femur and a broken back. Who knows. The point is, I *was* fine, and I felt fantastic! After what I’d just experienced, the rest of the ride down the trail was relatively fast and furious, but otherwise uneventful. When I got to the highway, I let loose and got those knobby tires rolling as fast as I could back to the cars, just to let off some adrenaline. Back on the road, I was on my home turf.
After a while, maybe half an hour or more, the rest of the gang showed up, and we called it a day.
I don’t remember it being that painful of a ride. But, the human mind being what it is, I’m not sure I would. I do remember being outside in the mountains with my brother, and in spite of the level of difficulty, having a lot of fun.
For the next trip next Spring, our focus will be a little different. More training oriented with longer rides over less treacherous terrain. I’ll try to avoid the cliffs.
I played pool at lunch today with a co-worker we’ll call Dave (because that’s his name). Given recent events, I figured I’d be pretty hard pressed to make a decent bridge and a single ball, much less string a rack together.
The same thing happened last year when I hit my left index finger with a hammer while beating landscaping stones into the sand around the patio. I hyper extended that little digit, causing some fairly dramatic discomfort. Given that it’s the primary guide for the cue stick, I had to be very careful then, also. I slowed down to account for the injury, and played lights out all night.