A little taste of the Colorado Trail

Today, I did a series of things that I don't ordinarily do. I carved out a couple of hours, donned some spandex, and went on a recreational mountain bike ride. I didn't have my backpack office with me, nor did I have a kid or dog in accompaniment. It was just me, 52 ounces of water, a tool kit and a bike.

The venue was Waterton Canyon, gateway to the Colorado Trail. Waterton Canyon is a popular non-motorized recreation area southwest of the city, near Chatfield Reservoir, and is at the nexus of two trails. The Highline Canal Trail begins here and meanders toward the city. The Colorado Trail also begins here, rambling off road some 500 miles, over mountains, valleys and streams before reaching Durango at the other end.

The pastoral character of the Highline Canal Trail is shared by the first six miles of the Colorado Trail (otherwise known as the CT). The CT starts as a well maintained, gently upward sloping gravel road, very lightly trafficked by a few maintenance trucks, and much more frequented by runners, walkers, fishers, photographers, and bicyclists of all types. The scenery in the canyon is rugged yet serene, and picturesque in any direction.

During this initial section, the CT route runs parallel to the South Platte River, which, along with the reservoirs it feeds, is one of the major sources of water for the Denver metro area. Denver Water maintains the gravel road and the canyon itself, at least until it reaches the Strontia Springs reservoir.

Within the first couple of miles, the CT enters the Pike National Forest. Earlier this summer, a number of forest fires appeared in many places in Colorado, including in the vicinity of Waterton Canyon. The acute heat and drought this year has desiccated much of this already fairly arid region. However, the day's temperatures in the low 70s F, coupled with heavy rains earlier this week, have given the canyon and surrounding hillsides a comfortably damp feel.

The terrain would seem to be a perfect place to bring a dog for a walk or a ride, but they are not allowed. The reason why is here:

Bighorn Sheep and other wild animals inhabit the area, and they have a hard enough time as it is without having to worry about being herded by errant dogs. Tough luck, Scout.

Encountering wild animals larger than squirrels seems a little foreign in modern life, yet there's nothing quite like it. Perhaps excitement at being close to a large, wild animal remains hardwired into our brains after thousands of generations. Seeking out animals for food and/or muscle power was a necessary survival skill. In any case, riding past a docile bighorn sheep is memorable, though I am not dumb enough to attempt to get any closer.

Past the sheep, the trail continued to slowly climb up the canyon. I paused to take a photo of myself using a convex mirror posted at the apex of a sharp turn. I'm wearing a 15-year old Voodoo Cycles jersey and bibs that were torn on a ride in Moab 9 years ago and later repaired, because they were the first items I could find. Like I said before, I don't wear spandex bike-specific clothing all that much anymore.

In short order, the Strontia Springs Dam came into view. Just off the trail here is an area equipped with nice picnic facilities for those who mark this as their turn around point. Nearby is the tidy house and lawn of a lucky caretaker of the area. In all, it's a very pleasant spot, but my objective lies ahead.

Past Strontia Springs Dam, the gravel road gives way to single track, and the character of the CT changes considerably. The upward angle increases, and the surface becomes more uneven. This is also where the real fun starts.

The first mile or so past the dam is loaded with switchbacks, winding through dense trees and scattered boulders up the side of a mountain. This was the first real mountain bike ride that I've taken in quite a while, and I felt it. Within minutes, I was sweating out the gravy of my decadent suburban lifestyle. Droplets rolled off my head and streamed down the lenses of my glasses, stinging my eyes as I labored up the hill.

For those of you who are still reading this and are somewhat familiar with my blog, you may have noticed that for this ride, I'm on an unfamiliar bike. You may have even been keeping track in your head. Let's see... It's got fat tubes; too fat to be steel. It has not only front, but rear suspension, and count 'em 7...8...9 gears on the cassette. Hold on, those don't look like top-mount thumbshifters in friction mode. Oh, and where's the bell? Hey, what gives?!?

Well, I have to admit to to you, diligent and sharp-eyed reader, that I have once again fallen off the wagon and secretly acquired another bike. It's a 2006 Specialized Stumpjumper FSR. I've actually had this bike for a few months now, but I couldn't quite face up to it to you, my loyal followers.

2006 Stumpjumper FSR

As it happened, this new bike found me during the time after which I'd ordered my Pugsley, but before it arrived. I say it found me, because it did. One day on the way to work, I rode down a street that I don't ordinarily take, and there it was, leaning against a tree at a yard sale. Now, I don't ordinarily even stop at yard sales, but this one had a couple of bikes, various tools, fishing equipment, and even some competition type go-carts. Most of the items were very testosterone laden, if you will.

The short story is that the husband of the woman who was running the yard sale had passed away a couple of years ago, and she was finally cleaning out the garage. Much of the other items were selling briskly, but there was not much interest in the Stumpjumper, a higher dollar item than typical yard sale bike fare. Another reason for minimal interest was that the tires were low, the front wheel was installed slightly askew making the brake rotor squawk if it was moved, and there was a little play in the rear shock. I made the assessment that none of the problems were serious, and that it might be fun to have a full-suspension mountain bike again. Shortly thereafter, I was towing it home on the Big Dummy, along with a nearly new Bell helmet and Pearl Izumi riding shoes that fit me well. I also ended up with a cheap one-person tent and a bench grinder.

As you might image, I had to engage in all sorts of wrangling of logic in order to justify the arrival of two bikes into the fold within the space of a week. I soon had the mechanical issues squared away, and started to rediscover suspension-enhanced riding, albeit on urban trails.

Back to the main story. This was my first real off road ride on the Stumpjumper, and once the going got more challenging, it was easy to see the advantages inherent in its design and construction.

The Stumpjumper has lockout mechanisms front and rear, which I had engaged for most of the time on the gravel road. I kept the lockout engaged for a while climbing the rocky single track, but found that I could actually climb better with the fork set to active and the rear suspension set to 'Propedal', which enables the suspension action, but at a firm compression rate.

This version of the Stumpjumper was a fairly modest model in 2006, but it's a good quality and well designed bike, and I'll have to say that I'm very impressed with the ride. I own several mountain bikes, but most are 20 or more years old, and none of them have any suspension. Even judging by what was available in 2006, a lot had changed since my first experiences with nascent Rock Shox and Manitou forks in the early '90s, and my early generation Specialized Ground Control FSR that I bought in 1997.

This full-suspension Stumpjumper not only weighs about the same as my much vaunted and rigid 1990 Bridgestone MB-1, but it is a much more capable machine for the purpose of trail riding. Even in my short experience with the bike, I have ridden surfaces and grades that I wouldn't have been able to before. I don't yet know if this bike will be with me for the long term, but riding it is a valuable rediscovery for me that the best mountain bikes are not necessarily just those from the increasingly distant past.

The fork lockout is the blue ring on the right stanchion. 

The rear lockout is the blue lever on the bottom of the shock.

The bike has 120 mm of travel, front and rear.

This rough section at the corner of a switchback is steeper than it looks. I rode it a few times, primarily in the astonishment that I actually could. 

There must be something to these newfangled suspension bikes. When I was on the single track segment of the CT, I saw three other bicyclists, of which two were riding full-suspension Stumpjumpers. However, all three were on 29-inch wheels, so it would appear that I'm still lagging in that department. I don't know that I'll become a strong convert to suspended mountain biking, but it is a lot of fun.

Eventually my efforts paid off, as the sun radiantly emerged from the trees at the top of the climb, at a place known as Lenny's Rest, in remembrance of a young hiker. Reading the plaque on the bench made me think about how the bike that I was riding, as well as the helmet and shoes I was wearing, were previously piloted by someone who is no longer with us. Although I knew neither Lenny, nor the original owner of the Stumpjumper, it doesn't take much to realize that life is fleeting and we should appreciate what time we get. I'm satisfied to know that it is likely my bikes may someday be ridden by someone else in much the same manner.

On the other side of the mountain, the southern exposure made for an entirely different feel. It instantly became noticeably warmer and drier, and the shady canopy of trees was gone. The angle of the slope also favored my direction of travel, and in minutes I had traveled far down the trail. I had hoped to be able to make it to the creek lurking somewhere at the bottom, but I realized that all this descending only meant more ascending on the way back, and my available time was starting to run out. I made do without reaching the stream, even though I knew I had to be close. Next ride I hope to have more time and maybe even some camping equipment with me to capitalize on what Gypsy Nick says are some good camping spots nearby.

After I made my turnaround, I climbed back up to Lenny's Rest and began the descent back toward Waterton Canyon. Where I had crawled on the way up, I was now flying on the way down. The Stumpjumper's suspension ate up everything in its path. This bike is a true joy to ride at speed over rocks, roots, and ruts. Some sections of the trail, cushioned with pine needles and painted with sunbeams, were ethereal.

Back on the gravel, the world opened up again. I shifted into the big ring and the miles rolled by, as the landscape changed around every bend. Even before I made it to the bottom, I started planning for the next ride.

Labor Day picnic ride on the High Line Canal trail

View from the Big Dummy.

I'm not ready to acquiesce to the common perception that Labor Day is the end of Summer. It just doesn't feel like it. For the past week or more, the temperatures have been in the 80s and 90s, and look to maintain at roughly that level for some time. Besides, the calendar says it's still Summer until September 22, and I'm sticking with that date.

Regardless of my peculiarities with acceptance of seasonal change, the rest of the family seemed ready for a ride. With the day off from work and school, we assembled the necessary items to have a nice ride to a favorite picnic spot. While I was packing the cooler, filling water bottles, and checking tire inflation, Julie made sure that the baby's fuel tank was topped off. Lil Sis has recently taken up the big girl pursuit of eating food. On the menu today was a first experience with carrots, followed by sweet potatoes, the old standby of her food eating career, which now spans a little more than a week.

The only problem she has with eating is when the spoonfuls don't arrive quickly enough.

Once we were loaded and fueled, we hit the trail. We selected the High Line Canal trail as the focal point of the day. The High Line Canal trail system meanders about 66 miles throughout the Denver Metro area, beginning at the outlet of Waterton Canyon, where just a couple of days ago Nicholas and Lael entered the Colorado Trail. The High Line Canal system is one of the best easy recreational features of the region, and has a long history in the development of Denver and surrounding communities.

The canal and a parallel maintenance trail were originally built in 1883 for the purpose of agricultural irrigation. As agriculture gave way to urban development in the modern era, the canal is only intermittently filled with water, but the trail has become the premier non-paved trail system in the metropolitan area. Because the trail runs parallel to the canal, any changes in elevation are very slight. The trail only occasionally intersects with streets with motorized traffic, and often underpasses have been constructed to facilitate crossing major roads. Parks and recreational facilities are located throughout much of its length. Additionally, the High Line Canal has long supported more vegetation than ordinarily occurs in our semi-arid region, meaning that much of the trail is shaded by Cottonwood and various other trees lining its course. All of these features make the High Line Canal trail an excellent choice for recreational family riding.

Our little bike convoy cruising along the High Line Canal trail.

Shady parking for the trail train.

Hungry riders chowing down, while an alert dog makes sure nothing goes to waste.

Most of Denver and its suburbs have views of the mountains of the Front Range. Though peaks and forests may appear to be crystal clear and not too distant, for us, the mountains and even the foothills are just too far away to be readily accessible without hopping in a car. Little verdant oases like those sprinkled along the High Line Canal trail and elsewhere within our part of the metro area are easily accessible by bike, and allow us to feel as though we got away from the city, at least for a little while.

Our first objective was lunch, and as I was carrying the bulk of the food, I was more than happy to redistribute it to everyone else. After putting a big dent in the food, we spent some time looking at crayfish and other aquatic life while cooling off near a section of Big Dry Creek. During the heat of the day, finding a little bit of water for cooling off makes a ride just that much more fun. Both human and canine components of our group took advantage.

Darting little fish hide in the shady outcroppings along the banks of Big Dry Creek.

For a cattle dog mix, presumably with an ancestry in parched, landlocked environs, Scout sure seems to enjoy being in water.

Smiling in a snazzy bike outfit, thanks to the ever stylish Fixed Gal.

There were plenty of people out on the trails today, many of them riding bikes. From an informal accounting, the majority of bikes seen were mountain bikes of multiple vintage, but a wide range of other variants were represented. Single-speed cruisers, skinny-tired road bikes, and recumbent trikes, all plied the unpaved trail.

However, our bikes, loaded with kids and equipment, a sizable cooler, various picnic paraphernalia, and a dog pacing alongside, still deviated noticeably from the norm. After four years, the Big Dummy still draws about as many looks and questions as it did when it was new. Julie's Breezer Villager is now more than 7 years old, and remains her favorite bike of all time. It has a comfortable upright riding style that is perfect for her purposes, and has required remarkably low maintenance. It's just about the perfect Mommy bike.

The Surly Big Dummy continues to be a do-it-all family truckster of a bike.

The Breezer Villager carrying its share of the load.

As we took our time, alternately riding and stopping to check out playground equipment, we started to get hot. At some point, some of us began to accurately predict when "rain" might selectively shower individuals in our group. Of course, the source of these showers was quickly found to be errant streams from water bottles, arched just right to drench unsuspecting riders. This degenerated into an all out soaking of everyone involved, with some protest but little complaint.

Just prior to a full-scale escalation into a water fight.

Scout knows that at the end of every ride...

... a welcome dip in her water tub is awaiting.

So, that was the bulk of our Labor Day. Just remember, Summer is not over. Here's to its continuation for at least the next 19 days.

Our girls, little and big. Ages 6 months and 7 years, respectively.

Lest the occasion slip by unnoticed, welcome to the double 20-year old club, Jennie. Drinks are on me, next time you're around.

Launching pad for Colorado Trail adventurers

On the Platte River Trail heading toward the trailhead for the Colorado Trail in Waterton Canyon.

I've long enjoyed reading first-hand accounts of travel and adventure, often undertaken by committed individuals testing their mettle by venturing into unfamiliar territory. Among my favorites is Harry A. Franck's A Vagabond Journey Around the World (available as a free ebook here). The book was published in 1910, and features a young man recounting his experiences of alternately working and traveling on a quest to circumnavigate the globe. It should therefore be no surprise that several blogs that I gravitate toward reading are written by self-supported adventurers of various stripes.

For the past couple of days we hosted a couple of the figurative descendants of Harry Franck. Nicholas and Lael of gypsy by trade are in the midst of a quest of similar magnitude, even if their goal is different. Our part in their story was to provide the staging area for their final preparations for a venture onto the Colorado Trail.

Originally, I became aware of Nicholas' travels through Bike wRider, the Alaskan iteration of a Big Dummy Daddy, and I've been following his exploits through his blog entries for a while now. When I observed from afar his embarkation from Anchorage, Alaska in June, I had no idea that I'd eventually meet up with him, as I did a week or so ago. (BTW, the next Surly Owner's Society (S.O.S.) is soon, details here.)

By his reckoning, Nicholas has ridden about 5,000 miles since leaving Anchorage. That works out to roughly 55 miles a day, every day for three months. Keep in mind, he's ridden mostly off-road or on gravel roads for much of the way, on a loaded fatbike weighing 70+ pounds. Across some sections of Montana and Wyoming, he managed 75 or more miles a day. He's climbed and descended innumerable passes, and braved the heat and hardships of vast open expanses. Needless to say, the guy is a powerhouse; his build is reminiscent of images of the burly-yet-sinewy riders from the early days of the Tour de France, back when it was an actual tour on dirt roads and mountain passes. All he's missing is the handlebar mustache.

Nicholas' girlfriend Lael recently returned from a bike touring, organic farming and yoga filled trip to Europe, centered on visits to France and Corsica. She met back up with Nicholas in Colorado to join him on the Colorado Trail. One small logistical issue was that when she arrived, she didn't have a bike suited for mountain riding. However, Nicholas had been busily assembling a steel 29er for her, using Craigslist and community bike shops to spice it up with just the right mix of equipment to make it trail worthy.

Nicholas and his MacBook Air blogging machine.

Stamps on Nick's outgoing mail appear to suggest bicycling is forever.

Lael's bike is a small framed Raleigh XXIX 29er mountain bike, which, until very recently, was a single speed. It now sports a rear gear cluster and a snazzy gold On-One Mary handlebar. Details of the build are here. A frame builder in Fort Collins grafted on some bottle cage mounts on the underside of the down tube for extra water capacity, and various bikepacking bags hold other necessities. Overall, it's a great looking, highly capable trail rig. The bike had its shakedown cruise from Fort Collins to our house via Boulder. According to Lael, she's doubly excited at the prospect of this, her first mountain bike, as well as being her first bike equipped with a suspension fork.

Lael's Raleigh XXIX 29er. Note the folded spare tire tucked under the down tube.

A svelte, lean trail machine, much like its rider.

Nicholas' bike is a first generation 18-inch Surly Pugsley, in its original grape Kool-aid purple color. The bike is an obvious trail veteran, highly integrated with a challenge-proven and well-honed kit of baggage and parts. Seeing elements of a bike that have been modified through a co-evolution with its rider speaks volumes. As I have a thing for home-built fenders, of particular aesthetic appeal for me are the bike's fenders, hand-made by Nicholas out of coroplast political yard signs. A typically xenophobic tea party message on the front fender exhorts voters to "take America back," however, from whom it should be taken is not quite clear. Nicholas has shown himself to be a master of karmic jujitsu in appropriating the yard sign and the message, claiming large swaths of the country as his own, a mile at a time.

Nicholas' classic purple Pugsley carrying a full trail load.

A gleaming, highly polished rear rotor alludes to seasoned experience in descending mountain passes with a heavy load. 

A Pugsley fork with narrow (100mm O.L.D.) dropouts allows for a generator hub. Check out that big 203mm rotor.

I greatly appreciate creatively repurposed stuff, and Nick's tea party coroplast fenders are things of beauty. The bottle carries denatured alcohol to fuel a home-built beer can stove.

On Friday morning, Lael and Nicholas accompanied us on our ride to school. A spunky kid, our girl chatted profusely about their bikes, where they had come from, where they were going, things they liked or didn't like, and mountain biking in general. Later, she told me that she was quite impressed that someone could ride all the way across the country, camping out every day. "Does that mean s'mores every night?" she asked me. "Why not?" I replied.

Our little mountain bike ballerina says goodbye on the way to dance class.

On their way out of town this morning, I escorted Nicholas and Lael to the Platte River Trail. It was fun to ride along in a little squadron of big-wheeled bikes, including another Pugsley. As appears to be the case when on a fatbike, attention abounds from anyone within the vicinity. Comments about our fat tires were issued profusely by other trail users; road bike riders in particular seem to be most surprised and inquisitive as to the purpose of big rubber.

At the top of Chatfield Dam, with Waterton Canyon in sight, we parted ways. Although they undoubtedly had the rest of the day of riding ahead of them, I knew my considerably less fit, old guy limitations and didn't want to exceed them. With loaded bikes, they wheeled away toward the mountains and adventure. All of us who stayed behind wish them luck and discovery along the trail.

Lael on the trail. Say this three times quickly.

The intrepid explorers with Chatfield Reservoir and the Waterton Canyon starting point of the Colorado Trail ahead of them.

I said goodbye and happy journey here. 

On the ride home, I took the opportunity to enjoy a rare recreational ride by myself. I ride a bike of some sort every day, but during most rides I find myself preoccupied with getting to a meeting or catching a train or being vigilant of cars around my family. As much as my life involves bicycling, I do sometimes miss riding a bike just for its own sake.

On my way home I found some gravel, which agrees with the Pugsley much more than pavement. 

Cacti with fruit.

Little conical pits near the base of a tree, presumably dug by an insect or spider.

One of the nice things about showing people around the area where we live is that I get to rediscover it through their eyes. Nicholas and Lael were genuinely impressed by the quantity and quality of trail systems in our area, which made me appreciate them all the more. Within a mile or few, there are four major trail systems and perhaps another half dozen smaller trails. In addition to that, there are many more informal trail connectors interwoven between the larger trails. It can be easy to take these trails for granted, but we truly are fortunate to have them.

A pleasant section of the Lee Gulch Trail.

An old railroad tunnel. This photo is specifically for Pat S., who rode off-road across an entire state to get a railroad tunnel fix.

Okay, so maybe the rail may not have actually gone through the tunnel, but it goes over, and has been revamped into a first-rate trail passage.