Still running on Texas time meant being up well before daylight on mountain time. Walking the sparsely lighted predawn drag alone in Ouray with only the sounds of the wind and squeaking of hanging plant baskets on their metal posts turned out to be a pretty cool experience. Some of that aloneness without loneliness stuff.
The Elks organization made breakfast for us that morning and I showed up extra early to visit and test out their coffee. Their lodge is the big brown castle looking building on the south end of town. It’s an impressive place inside having just about everything but ceilings made from beautiful quarter sawn red oak. A twenty foot high ceiling in the great hall is covered with old formed tin patterns. It’s one of the newer places in that part of Ouray - built in 1902.
I was long gone from breakfast before the bulk of the crew showed up. Seems they had a bit of drama sometime after I’d left. Another CO500 policy is that a rookie’s sponsor is responsible for the rookie’s behavior. Some rookie had raced around a few quads the previous day going up Engineer and then gave ‘em a good roosting. After that he ran off the road or something. They called his sponsor up before the entire group and dressed him down pretty good. The rookie took it bad, got totally emotional, and bailed out of the ride altogether. I saw the guy that evening and tried to talk him down but he’d have no part of it. Rented a U-haul truck, gathered up is goods and vamoosed. They did say this ride really ain’t for everybody.
Well, Scott and I got with our sponsor that morning and convinced him we were both pretty familiar with the jeep trails around Ouray. Yes, Imogene is spectacular and Black Bear is a hoot… the first two or three trips down. Besides, I’d caught a whiff of some single track not too far up the road and, well… we’d catch up with him that evening. Adios dude. Time to gear up, gas up, tighten up and ride.
Clouds were still setting low on mountain tops as we headed northeast where roads turned to gravel and then gravel into dirt trails.
Then finally into that magic single line in the dirt where casual adventurers turn away and wind and throttle come to mingle with unknown resolve. That place where time seems to bend, compresses and machine draws near as a trusted limb. I expect you probably know this place, too. Maybe not this particular location but, no less this place.
Shrouded in morning mist, uncommon mountains seemed to stand in outright defiance to the sky itself. Sudden ragged bare rock pinnacles, their rugged profiles in harsh contrast with the gentleness of forests below.
We saw no one. We heard only the soft clicking rattle of aspen leaves and watched as the wind and mist danced in swirls across the valley reflecting morning light as dozens of tiny ever changing rainbows. When our Creator puts on a show – there is simply no equal.
After stopping to add a layer of rain gear we started the climb just as rain began falling. It wasn’t our Texas flood kind of rain but the usual spit and sputter so common at higher elevations. The kind that somehow ensures everything is thoroughly wet and cold from top to bottom.
The track up was a series of “turn around and touch yourself” switchbacks. The sort that usually require throwing the front end around and never ever letting up on the gas.
Not far from the top I managed to get deflected by a rock in the trail that threw me off track to the downhill side. ( Has anyone ever actually been deflected to the uphill side? ) This set up a motorcycle wrestling match that went on a whole lot longer than expected. The tall thick wet grass worked like a water slide and trying to start uphill, back onto the track, wasn’t happening at all. I can’t say how many times I picked up that dang motorcycle. Every time I stood it back up it slid further down the hill and just gently laid back down. Looked like a bunch of hogs spent the day wallowing here where the wrestling took place.
I finally got turned down the hill and managed to work along its contour back onto the track, riding back down to a switchback where turning the bike around was possible. Between the wrestling and the altitude, I was weak to the point of really needing to rest a bit. I thought I could see the top of the mountain but any effort to get there was going to take an act of stubborn faith. If it wasn’t actually the top and turned out to be just another switchback, I was in trouble. There just wasn’t anything left in the tank to work with. I haven't felt like this many times but it was surely one of them.
The mountain went up some distance further and altitude was rapidly taking its toll on torque but luckily the trail was consistent and eventually flattened out on the ridge line for a short ways. I don’t know our elevation at the pass but a lack of horsepower and my unusually slow recovery from the wrestling match had to mean we were up there. Scott had just about finished his second granola bar and was starting to wonder by the time I finally showed up. It was a rough doggone climb but he’s a dedicated and skilled rider who puts a lot of practice time and good equipment into riding well. It shows.
I was sucking wind like a new Hoover on 440 three phase but it just wasn’t making much of a difference. We’ve ridden together for years and Scott could see that my tach was running way too close to the red line. I expect to give me some more time in a dignified way, he tossed me his camera and went to stand out on the ledge for some pictures. The view back toward Ridgeway was spectacular. Pictures are hardly worth the effort but that‘s all I have.
The rain had stopped and the sky was clear. The air was cleansed and visibility went on forever. An eagle circled the top of a nearby pine tree - so close we could actually hear the wind on his feathers as he turned.
We stayed at the pass for a good while partly to let me catch my breath but mostly because the view is truly incredible from there. Once we started down the trail the real ride began.
It’s sometimes amazing how completely different two sides of the same mountain can be. This was one of those. The western side turned into beautiful deep forests and whoever laid out the trail should receive the Nobel prize for trail awesomeness. There were switchbacks. A half dozen or so just too blooming tight for sane folks to ride around but once we’d descended maybe a third of the way, things grew closer to the perfect motorcycle ride than I’ve seen before.
Challenging steep climbs just after turning out of a small stream, logs set at angles across the trail that had to be squared up to get over while still landing on the trail. Curving rim trails so narrow that the width of a rear tire fully covered them.
Low head knocker logs as stream crossings or a sharp turn lay just beyond. It was technical riding but would also suddenly break across a meadow of bright flowers or gently wind through a thicket of old growth aspens at just about the time my batteries were getting too low from all the thrashing and crashing over the rough stuff.
This kind of punishment/reward cycle went on and on, getting better as we went.
You won’t see many pictures of the rough stuff for the same reason we rarely ever do. It’s too daggum rough to stop and take one.
We continued down the trail in a sort of a leap-frog fashion... making it just past a challenging spot and then waiting to be sure the other made it through before moving on. We eventually stopped after a good while of this to catch our breath.
I could see it was taking its toll on Scott by then and he asked how much farther this went. I had no idea but checking the GPS showed we had maybe half a mile of trail left. Now we knew.
As we started off on the final push it was clear we were both slowing down as we rode closer to the end of the trail. We just didn’t want this moment to vanish and were trying, either consciously or not, to stretch it out. Thing is, physically we were running low. It was a long hard ride and several previous days of continuous riding were chipping away at our energy. But spiritually this was something we both wished would just keep going and wouldn’t have an end at all. Maybe you know this place, too. Not necessarily this particular location but, no less this place.
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