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Published: November 16th 2006
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A week ago Travis, two of our buddies, and I went out to a little ghost town in Northern California known as Downieville. Downieville is an old mining town, and thanks to those miners for leaving such an amazing litany of trails. Erosion control and forest services have diverted some of the original paths, but that day consisted of 14 miles, most of it downhill, with over 4300 feet of elevation drop.
We arrived around 10 a.m. We were crossing our fingers that we can hop on the shuttle, as we didn’t really call ahead. Fortunately our poor planning didn’t slow us down too much. The mid 90’s conversion van was chugging up hill: our team of four, plus one straggler and the driver, who’s not in the least bit intimidated by the tight, slick, two-lane highway. He lets us know that the bike ride ahead is no big deal either; he’s done it while wearing jeans on a single speed BMX.
His bravado doesn’t do much to calm my nerves. I have a similar gut rot as the time I won a drinking contest in Cabo San Lucas. To date I hadn’t ridden anything that intense. Marissa “hiked
a bike” the lower 6 miles. She said it made her cry. T says it’s no big deal - not that technical. But his opinion is clearly subjective, my previously bruised body and cracked ego thinks totally differently of the local trails we’ve ridden.
There was roughly 400 ft of climbing, a small fraction of the downhill action. Large trees, tightly packed around the fast single track gave a four mile stretch a very Return of the Jedi, I think I saw an Ewok kind of feel.
Another stretch was tight to the hillside, make one mistake and you and your new blue bike are falling for quite awhile. I walked a few spots such spots where I was overwhelmed by the ridiculous, open exposure coupled with speeds that would get my car a ticket in a residential neighborhood. I don’t want to end up paralyzed in a manzanita bush.
After the ride, I was happy to be wholly intact. We stopped at a bar and it was oddly crowded for 3:30pm on weekday. A few locals stared us down Deliverance style so we hustled out of there.
The next morning Hope and I hopped on
a plane for Charlotte, NC. We’re jet setters, if you didn’t know that already.
A friend of Hope’s family was getting married and we couldn’t pass up the free food and booze. Friday night we finagled our way into the rehearsal dinner, where we enjoyed a night of cards, food, drinks, and good company. Through the chaos of the event, family members of the bride and groom somehow confused me for the home owners, which were Scott and Susan, Hope’s brother and sister in law. So, of course, instead of clearing up the confusion I gracefully accepted full credit for their fabulous evening.
The wedding was Saturday. Hope, Linda (Hope’s mom), Emma (Hope’s niece) and I all headed to the wedding together. The wedding ceremony and reception were held in downtown Charlotte in a contemporary loft with a view of the city skyline. The food was mostly desert based, so I downed at least a baker’s dozen of the tasty miniature, homemade treats. The star of the night was Hope’s two year old niece Emma. For the first time I think someone actually had more fun dancing than Hope. Little Emma broke it down with her wild Aunt.
Sunday we relaxed and enjoyed brunch at Scott’s restaurant, Upstream. There we ate way too much first class sushi, carved meats, salads, waffles, and deserts. We arrived Monday back in Tahoe full of food and jet lagged.
The following Friday after work the group that headed to Downieville left for three days of riding in the mountain biking Mecca known as Moab, Utah. We drove 12 hours straight to arrive Saturday morning to cloudy, but decent fall weather. If Downieville’s terrain was Star Wars, Moab’s was Wile E Coyote and Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid.
Day one, after much debate, we chose to ride the Porcupine Rim Trail. T was the trail expert, as he’s visited Moab regularly over the past 10 years. The loop was about 30 miles long with maybe 10 miles on the road. The ride was broken off into a few distinct sections. Like many trails, the beginning was a distinct up, on a wide, fairly technical climb. The first portion of downhill was the same, fast with large, bumpy rocks. It felt like a steeper version of the old brick sections of Michigan Avenue near Tiger Stadium. The final two miles were
the most technical, with a real fast downhill single track with huge, fall off the cliff exposure. For the first time, I understood the full suspension aspect of my bike as I was frequently maxing out the six inches of travel.
Sunday we rode the famous Slick Rock trail. This was a 15 mile loop of short, steep ups and quick, drastic downs. The flat, well eroded, hard surface made for high speeds, great traction, and a poor landing pad when the ride goes awry. Many of the climbs and turns appeared impossible, but the bike would defy gravity as the tires held traction in the most precarious of conditions. The amazing part was the mass of solid rock that covered the area; it went on forever. Another treat was watching the motocross guys zipping around the trail and catching air off of five foot cliffs.
Day three was a 20 plus mile trek along Flat Pass. It kicked off with a long road ride to the trail start into a heavy head wind. The weather was windy and cold, but by the end of the ride the sun was shinning and temps warming up. Rolling, wide, Jeep
tracks made up the trail, which gained about 1000 ft of elevation. The terrain was fairly solid sand and compact rock gardens. The path was wide enough where several lines were available, which allowed one to choose from a variety of technical riding. We also crossed three streams which were deeper than usual due to recent rain. This made for nice and cold feet for long portions of the ride. So in sum: three days, four guys, three and half cases of beer, and over 70 miles of Moab’s classic trails. Good times.
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George
non-member comment
Wild
Frank, you have done things and seen things that are awesome. Stay in one piece please. Great pics.