The Highline Canal - Denver's Best Boring Ride

Hello, and welcome to this blog post. This post is going to ramble on for too long about a ride that itself rambled on for too long. A large part of what made this ride enjoyable was what I listened to along the way, so here's a sample. It makes as apt a soundtrack for this post as anything. 

The Highline Canal winds for almost seventy miles through Denver's suburbia. For some unknown reason, I recently decided to take the lightrail down to the Mineral station and follow the Canal until it intersected the Sand Creek trail. The trails are still dry and this is the best time of year to ride a mountain bike, and it's rare that I have the opportunity to do whatever I want for an entire day. Did I make a mistake? On paper, the answer is yes, but in reality it was actually a pretty good day (though you can see on the map where I became too bored to continue, just east of I-225).

There are some positive things to say about the Canal. For a city trail, it far surpasses the South Platte and Cherry Creek trails. It's prettier, less traveled, and feels fairly remote despite winding through a city of 650,000 people.

There were other trail users, but it wasn't crowded like the Cherry Creek path. It wasn't littered and industrial like the Platte path. However, both of those paths are slightly more interesting. The Highline looked almost exactly the same for fifty miles. Another small perturbation about this trail is that you have to cross a road every few miles, which you don't have to do on the other paths in town. It's a small matter, but waiting at stoplights does interrupt one's rhythm.

About half was paved and half was not. I was on 2.0 knobby tires, but a road bike would've sufficed.

It's not a ride I'm in a hurry to repeat, but there may be a sunny winter day when I want to put in some headphones and enter a trance state. However, there are so many amazing dirt roads within an hour's drive that I may spend sunny winter days elsewhere.

Once I got on the Sand Creek Greenway, I didn't get far before the trail was inexplicably closed with no detour. Martin Luther King Blvd., despite a bike lane, was less than ideal. In retrospect, I should've hopped back on the lightrail. All in all, though, it was a pleasant day.

Here are a few other things that made this ride a delight:

Bikepacking Against the Machine

In late September some of our pals from Surly spent a weekend riding bikes with us. (We did something similar last year, which you can read about here). On Friday, some folks bikepacked. Some folks biked. Others still simply packed. It was a broad event best enjoyed by open minds.

If there's something finer than getting a leisurely start and riding bikes all day in the fall, I don't know what it might be. 

Thirteen hearty folks set out from the east end of Section Two of the Colorado Trail. Of those thirteen, two had never really ridden singletrack before. That's incredible.

If you've not ridden this trail before, you should know that the first 3/4 of a mile is very steep. There are no pictures of this section because letting go of the rock face to take a picture means certain death. Remember the movie Cliffhanger? (I hope you don't). It's just like that.

Finally, at the top of that heinous section, you break out of the trees and the grade relaxes and you can more or less continue about your day. The word "top" in this case is misleading, because you aren't at the top of anything. You've gained about 1/1,000,000th of your total elevation for the day. A navigator should be careful about using the word "top" in a group, especially repeatedly, as others will begin to look at that navigator fist with distrust, and later, hostility.

Here we came upon a fantastic resting place near a large, pink rock. The view was fantastic, but upon review I didn't get a single picture of this rest spot that didn't feature someone peeing, so you'll just have to imagine a Rocky Mountain valley. Trees, river, rocks, aspens, pee, etc.

In fact, one could probably best describe this entire trip by listing things I did not photograph. Our pal Ryan from Totem Cyclery was there, but you'd never know it from looking at these photos. Our friend Kevin from Huckleberry Roasters sent some coffee with us, but based on this photolog you might think we had to wake ourselves up by clacking pots together. 

Karate Monkey yellow.

Then it was time for: climbing! About five miles worth. It was steep and loose in a couple of places, but not technical. According to me, we were continually "almost there" and "just about at the end of the bad part." According to several sources, this information was wrong.

Finally, yes, right here, I was correct. This was the top of the climb. Except for just one tiny little bit of climbing that came after this.

Krampus!

We stopped at Chair Rocks because it's one of the best views in Buffalo Creek.

Here's a little slideshow about how to sneak up on Trevor. Step #1: Make him ride bikes until he is tired. Step #2: Sneak up on him. Fun!

The trail between Chair Rocks and the end of Section Two are about as pleasant as can be. It's a bit like being adrift at sea. Most of us were low on water, which was also a bit like being adrift at sea.

Fortunately, we were soon able to rehydrate: 

Some beer from our pals at Call to Arms, Trve Brewing, and Prost.

There's something to be said about riding hard all day and finally sitting down for a beer. It's a rare opportunity to be completely unwound. Even better if there are stars and fires involved. 

On Saturday we rode bikes n' stuff. We road road, we crushed gravel, we schralped berms, we sent jumps. We bombed, enduroed, downhilled, uphilled, crossed country, and styled freely. We lunch rode. I didn't get pictures of any of that. Instead, here's a good one of everybody standing around:

Is the new Karate Monkey rad? Nate thinks so.

On Sunday, a few of us rode back down Section Two to where our vehicles were parked. Bogie impressed us all with his trials skills:

There were actually several people on this ride, but I sure didn't take pictures of any of them. 

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Finally, many thanks to Trevor and Aaron and Surly Bikes for helping us make this weekend happen. Y'all are the black hoodies we wear around our hearts.

What's in Your Bag

We're starting a new blog series called What's in Your Bag in order to see what people carry with them when they ride. Many riders have been stranded miles from home or the trailhead and tend to tailor the gear they carry to prevent repeat disasters. Maybe you'll see something that someone else carries and realize you should be carrying it too. Maybe you'll just enjoy snooping through other peoples' stuff.

North St. Clinton 20L backpack. We brought these in a few weeks ago and have been impressed. We'll post a review dedicated to these bags soon.

Brooks saddle cover. It's pretty dry in Colorado, but sometimes it does rain and your leather saddle turns into a piece of lunchmeat. 

Lights and charging cord. Great for looking under the couch. Also pretty good for riding bikes at night.

Earphones. Not always a great idea, but sometimes they're a great idea. We wrote a blog about earphones once, and you can read it here.

Wool shirt. For cold times.

Clear glasses. For dark times. And cloudy times.

Stickers. There are surfaces in the world that could use improvement.

Wallet.

Pens.

Surly Junk Strap. One of the handiest thing to always have with you. Forget your belt? Don't have enough hands to carry the six-pack you just bought? Need a dog leash? There are a million uses for this thing.

Two blank books. Because I dislike iPhones.

Wool skullcap and wool gloves. These things stay in the bottom of the bag all year because it can be cold in July.

Tool kit: tube, business card, dollar bill (tire boot), multi-tool, SRAM quicklinks.

Sharpies. 

Knife. 

Lunch. Everybody likes lunch. 

The Yawp! Company in Steamboat Springs

The Yawp Company recently rode bikes in Steamboat Springs. 

We missed a lot of good TV to watch some stupid clouds.

This is some kind of mass-produced chimney log. It burns when wet and makes a fire easy to start and doesn't put out much smoke. All I can think of as I watch it burn is what's probably the most famous doodle in Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions.

Campfires notwithstanding, it was cold on top of Rabbit Ears Pass. 

Despite the chilly morning temperatures, we were able to make our 9am start happen by 10am, which is pretty darn good. 

Judging by the angle of the shadows, it must be no-one-gives-a-damn-o-clock.

There's a trail that starts at the top of Rabbit Ears Pass and winds all the way to the top of Steamboat Ski Area. It's a 30-mile, high alpine ride that ascends 1,800 feet and then descends 4,200 feet almost all at once. We had to put up with a lot of cliché scenery and good people, but we found the strength to persevere. Honestly, wildflowers, babbling creeks, and circling hawks? It has so been done. 

It's kind of unfair that places like this still exist. For the urbanite who has to pick the Doritos bags and french fry cartons out of the landscaping every morning and who has to breathe smog and get awakened by sirens and sit in traffic, seeing natural landscapes that make one use words like gorgeous and beautiful without embarrassment is really kind of a downer. We should quickly bulldoze all of this so that we can forget it ever existed, and get on with pretending that concrete and litter is our natural habitat.

Just when we thought no one had brought anything to make litter with, Darin saved the day.

The trail is surprisingly flat, given where it is, but there are a number of short, steep climbs that--in combination with the altitude and rocky terrain--leave a rider feeling pretty tired. This ride is for expert snackers only.

The climbs get rockier and looser, by the way, as you go, and just when you think you've reached the ski area and are about to descend, you have several loose, rocky climbs to go. 

This spot feels like the top of the world. To get here, you have to complete the day's toughest, loosest, rockiest climb, and it just doesn't look like there's any way to gain more altitude. You will, though. But then you'll be at the top of Steamboat Ski Area where you will enjoy one of the most spectacularly endless descents we've had in recent memory. You'll descend (probably) Pete's and Sunshine Trails for an eternity before you even get to the top of Rustler's Ridge, which itself descends for an eternity (or at least an age).

It's difficult to explain the quality of this descent.

Because every trail has a beginning and an end, every ride therefore contains a narrative. Many of the rides I often get to enjoy do have a story, but it isn't a story in the grand tradition of Don Quixote or The Grapes of Wrath. The narratives of most of my rides are similar to the episodic, rambling narratives a five year-old might tell. "Well, first there was this one part with rocks and then a sludgy uphill and then a bird with a yellow tail flew by and then there were roots and I picked my nose," and etc. Conversely, this trail builds slowly like a long novel. It builds purposefully yet indirectly toward a climax. Just when you think you can't take it anymore, you're rewarded with a short descent or a picturesque vista. It gets tough. It gets tougher. Then there is, literally, a climax. And dang, the Sunshine Trail is a satisfying conclusion. It wraps up your questions and concerns. It schools you about life and makes you into a better, stronger person.

That's not the end of the story. At the top of Rustler's Ridge, you can see the town of Steamboat there below you, and you expect Rustler's Ridge to be a short and predictable epilogue, a useless addendum. It's not.

It's one of the most enjoyable swoopy, jumpy, berm-ed out, shredfests that I know about. You descend and descend and the town of Steamboat never gets any closer. We considered bailing on our Sunday ride and shelling out the $39 per person for a lift pass so we could shred this trail ALL DAY. Insanity. In retrospect, we should've done just that.

Instead, we rode some Emerald Mountain trails just south of town on Sunday. Morning Gloria was a pleasant climb with a low grade, varied terrain, and two billion aspen trees. 

Not Rustler's Ridge.

Also not Rustler's Ridge.

(Sigh) This isn't Rustler's Ridge either. 

Fun sign! Not Rustler's Ridge, though.

We descended NPR (No Pedaling Required). It was fine. It was not Rustler's Ridge. Still, it was riding bikes, and that ain't bad. 

Ian is in the river. This will surprise no one.

The Yawp! Company in Breckenridge

In July, the Yawp! Company went to Breckenridge. 

Because it's summer time in the shop, this blog is an entire Yawp! Company trip behind. This post will therefore be more picturebook than storybook. But here are some details:

On Friday we rode Kenosha Pass to Jefferson. You can read about our experience on this trail on Blackriver HERE. 

On Saturday we climbed up the Colorado Trail, which ran right past our campsite. This 4-mile climb was tough, to say the least. Was it worth it? Yes, it was. The shred-fest went on for a long, long time. There's no such thing as a descent that lasts for too long, but this one was almost long enough. Almost. We threw in a loop on Blair Witch and then descended the Colorado Trail down to the highway. (There are two trees on Blair Witch that are exactly 780mm apart, by the way, so you can knick both ends of your handlebars at the same time. Thrilling!)

We rode the bike path South into Breckenridge, and then climbed up toward the ski area to catch Peaks Trail. You can read our write-up about the awesome Peaks Trail on Blackriver HERE.

(I had to leave this trip early in order to go to Saddledrive, which you can read all about HERE.)

That's it. That's the whole trip. Although I want to tell you about a dream I had. 

But nobody else even tried.

Right before this trip I dreamed I was driving over an overpass. I cut an arc across a city that was as claustrophobic, endless, and dirty as the city in Blade Runner. As the automobile banked through the turn, the dream changed and the automobile was gone. The overpass became a slide. I became subject to the slide for a long time, sliding down steep sections and around disorienting corners until the open slide became a tunnel, flushing me onward until suddenly it deposited me in a field. 

I've heard it's unusual to see your feet in dreams, but looking down I saw my toes submerged two inches in a clear stream. I felt mud between them.

Wildflowers grew amongst the tall grasses and appeared and disappeared as the wind stirred flora. The city was barely apparent on the horizon. The feeling that my arrival in this place produced in me is difficult to describe; suffice it to say I am still moved now thinking about this dream.

I understood in the dream that the city was where I lived but the field was my home. I understood I was going to spend my life in that city and that I was going to die in it.

In the dream I desperately did not want that to be my future. I wanted to remain in the field. 

Even in the dream I didn't expect life to be all play and no work, but being asked to give up that field in order to return to the city seemed like too much. Then I began to wonder who it was who was asking that.

We're not sure why this sign exists, but we're glad it does.

A good place to dunk your head in the river.

Then my wife appeared in my dream to tell me I was snoring. I didn't mind because it was so good to see here there in the field.

Is he YAWPing? I think he is.

Ryan cramped up in a crowded restaurant. People stared. It was great!

It was just a dream and like all dreams it ended, but I haven't forgotten that Breckenridge is only an hour's drive away.