M
Mark Bockmann
Guest
On solo rides, do you often find yourself heading back to
the same trail again and again? I do. Some rides are just
better off done alone.
For me, Dakota Ridge is that trail.
For one thing, it's one of the local trails I would have to
twist my wife's arm to do. It's a bit more technical than
most of our Front Range rides, and even Molly would admit
that she and "technical" don't always get along.
Then there are my riding buddies. Some of them like to stop
and try the hard parts over and over, and some of them
don't. When I ride with the first group, they're too good. I
get stuck on a section and want to try it ten times, while
they're already gone. The second group isn't really
interested in waiting around for me, either.
For rides like this, solo is where it's at. I can get into
the flow of the trail, really feel the rocks and see the
lines, and not worry about what anyone else is doing. I
can stay at one spot for half an hour if I feel like it,
until I finally clean that one section that's been my
nemesis for years.
Today I pulled into the parking lot in the bright noon sun.
My bike was gleaming after a ton of fresh spring
maintenance: new rear shock bushing and internals, new
bottom bracket, overhauled CK hubs, new chain, and of course
-- new cables & housing for that crisp shifting action.
(Yes, my bike has gears. Deal with it, people.)
I was on the trail a minute after arriving. I was back a
minute later to strip off some extra clothes. It was
that nice out.
The initial 300' grind up to the ridge felt short and sweet,
as usual. The trail opened up with some fast buff hardpack.
Spinning on the narrow ridge, I caught glimpses of Denver to
my left and the Front Range to my right, stretching all the
way down to Pikes Peak if I wanted to look for it.
The trail pointed downhill and got rockier. I relaxed and
tried to flow. I was still feeling a bit tight. Grabbing too
much brake. Staring at the trail right in front of me
instead of further down.
I made it to the saddle and downshifted for the first
steep climb, a series of about 8 log ramps in a row. My
tires slipped on one of the ramps, its logs wet and muddy
from snowmelt. The first of many "do-overs." That section
was just a warmup for the one to come, a rocky transition
into yet another series of log ramps, but these were
steeper, taller, and more closely spaced. I cleared the
transition and the first two ramps before spinning out. A
couple of false starts and then I cleared the rest of that
section more smoothly than ever before. I was starting to
feel it now.
The rest of the trail flew by under my wheels. Rocks,
switchbacks, rocks, drops, ramps, and more rocks. By the
time I reached the end I had cleaned everything. Only the
second time I'd ever done that. Very cool.
Morrison Slide was next on the agenda, but not before I
checked out a new trail I'd recently seen on the map. I
pedaled up the hill to Red Rocks and found that the new
trail was closed to bikes. Too bad. It was a good
opportunity to explore the area, anyway. Such amazing
sandstone rock formations -- it looked like Sedona or
something. I discovered that I could pedal all the way into
the Red Rocks amphitheater. I sat in the middle of the stage
and had lunch where Blues Traveler, Neil Young, and Beck
played last year. A high school track team ran the stairs
underneath 300' Creation Rock, turning in slower and slower
lap times as their coach mercilessly flogged them on.
Back on the bike, I turned north and headed for Morrison
Slide and more technical climbing. There were several
sections I'd never once cleaned, but today the I got the
hardest one on my second try. Was it easier now, or had I
gotten better? I really wish I knew...
A switchback stopped me cold halfway up. It didn't look too
hard -- moderately steep, a little rocky, and a boulder
leaning in from the right, but definitely doable. I tried it
again and got to the exit move before stupidly running right
into a rock with my front wheel. By my 15th try another
rider arrived. He also failed his first try, but just
barely, and I said, "You've got it, man!" We both kept at it
until first he, and then I, cleaned the whole section.
"Feels easy once you do it, huh?"
Together we made it to the top of the mesa, then rode the
icy switchbacks off the north end down to the final
section of the Red Rocks trail. I pulled off at the play
spot, a rounded slickrock boulder on the left. There was a
couple there with full pads and 40-lb bikes. He was
pushing his bike to the top of the rock, then catching
some air off the jump at the bottom. She was sitting in
the grass below, watching.
I pedaled to the top and joined the guy there, and we ran
the jump four or five times. Both of us are at the stage
where we're just trying to feel comfortable in the air. I'm
trying to get there G R A D U A L L Y, not wanting to break
too many bones in the acquisition of this skill. Actually,
that's my strategy for just about all the sports I do these
days. It has to be a sign of getting older. I'm smart enough
now to know that a stupid mistake can keep me from the
things I love to do for a long time. But I still like to
push the envelope. It's just that it's my own small
envelope, and I'm cool with that.
The last mile of dirt beckoned, so I said goodbye to the
armored hucksters and wished them a good one. And that's
just what it was today...a good one.
the same trail again and again? I do. Some rides are just
better off done alone.
For me, Dakota Ridge is that trail.
For one thing, it's one of the local trails I would have to
twist my wife's arm to do. It's a bit more technical than
most of our Front Range rides, and even Molly would admit
that she and "technical" don't always get along.
Then there are my riding buddies. Some of them like to stop
and try the hard parts over and over, and some of them
don't. When I ride with the first group, they're too good. I
get stuck on a section and want to try it ten times, while
they're already gone. The second group isn't really
interested in waiting around for me, either.
For rides like this, solo is where it's at. I can get into
the flow of the trail, really feel the rocks and see the
lines, and not worry about what anyone else is doing. I
can stay at one spot for half an hour if I feel like it,
until I finally clean that one section that's been my
nemesis for years.
Today I pulled into the parking lot in the bright noon sun.
My bike was gleaming after a ton of fresh spring
maintenance: new rear shock bushing and internals, new
bottom bracket, overhauled CK hubs, new chain, and of course
-- new cables & housing for that crisp shifting action.
(Yes, my bike has gears. Deal with it, people.)
I was on the trail a minute after arriving. I was back a
minute later to strip off some extra clothes. It was
that nice out.
The initial 300' grind up to the ridge felt short and sweet,
as usual. The trail opened up with some fast buff hardpack.
Spinning on the narrow ridge, I caught glimpses of Denver to
my left and the Front Range to my right, stretching all the
way down to Pikes Peak if I wanted to look for it.
The trail pointed downhill and got rockier. I relaxed and
tried to flow. I was still feeling a bit tight. Grabbing too
much brake. Staring at the trail right in front of me
instead of further down.
I made it to the saddle and downshifted for the first
steep climb, a series of about 8 log ramps in a row. My
tires slipped on one of the ramps, its logs wet and muddy
from snowmelt. The first of many "do-overs." That section
was just a warmup for the one to come, a rocky transition
into yet another series of log ramps, but these were
steeper, taller, and more closely spaced. I cleared the
transition and the first two ramps before spinning out. A
couple of false starts and then I cleared the rest of that
section more smoothly than ever before. I was starting to
feel it now.
The rest of the trail flew by under my wheels. Rocks,
switchbacks, rocks, drops, ramps, and more rocks. By the
time I reached the end I had cleaned everything. Only the
second time I'd ever done that. Very cool.
Morrison Slide was next on the agenda, but not before I
checked out a new trail I'd recently seen on the map. I
pedaled up the hill to Red Rocks and found that the new
trail was closed to bikes. Too bad. It was a good
opportunity to explore the area, anyway. Such amazing
sandstone rock formations -- it looked like Sedona or
something. I discovered that I could pedal all the way into
the Red Rocks amphitheater. I sat in the middle of the stage
and had lunch where Blues Traveler, Neil Young, and Beck
played last year. A high school track team ran the stairs
underneath 300' Creation Rock, turning in slower and slower
lap times as their coach mercilessly flogged them on.
Back on the bike, I turned north and headed for Morrison
Slide and more technical climbing. There were several
sections I'd never once cleaned, but today the I got the
hardest one on my second try. Was it easier now, or had I
gotten better? I really wish I knew...
A switchback stopped me cold halfway up. It didn't look too
hard -- moderately steep, a little rocky, and a boulder
leaning in from the right, but definitely doable. I tried it
again and got to the exit move before stupidly running right
into a rock with my front wheel. By my 15th try another
rider arrived. He also failed his first try, but just
barely, and I said, "You've got it, man!" We both kept at it
until first he, and then I, cleaned the whole section.
"Feels easy once you do it, huh?"
Together we made it to the top of the mesa, then rode the
icy switchbacks off the north end down to the final
section of the Red Rocks trail. I pulled off at the play
spot, a rounded slickrock boulder on the left. There was a
couple there with full pads and 40-lb bikes. He was
pushing his bike to the top of the rock, then catching
some air off the jump at the bottom. She was sitting in
the grass below, watching.
I pedaled to the top and joined the guy there, and we ran
the jump four or five times. Both of us are at the stage
where we're just trying to feel comfortable in the air. I'm
trying to get there G R A D U A L L Y, not wanting to break
too many bones in the acquisition of this skill. Actually,
that's my strategy for just about all the sports I do these
days. It has to be a sign of getting older. I'm smart enough
now to know that a stupid mistake can keep me from the
things I love to do for a long time. But I still like to
push the envelope. It's just that it's my own small
envelope, and I'm cool with that.
The last mile of dirt beckoned, so I said goodbye to the
armored hucksters and wished them a good one. And that's
just what it was today...a good one.
