So there I was, just riding along, nearing the end of my local Tuesday morning ride, not unlike hundreds of other morning rides I’ve done since moving to Salida.  Being the middle of the week, there weren’t a lot of people out and I had the trails mostly to myself.  

About a mile from home, coming around a corner I saw two riders coming toward me.  A guy and a girl.  They pulled over to let me go by and as I approached the guy shouted, “Hey, that’s a Bike Barn jersey!”  Surprised by the recognition, I responded with something like “Yep, sure is”.  And then he called my name.  I skidded to a stop.  

In the out-of-context situation, it took my brain a few seconds to reference the face against the face database in my head.  Then I realized it was an old friend from Houston, Jason and his wife Christine.

“What are you doing here!?” he asked.

“We live here now. What about you?”

“We’re on vacation.”

“Holy crap! Welcome to Salida!”

We chatted for quite a while.  Turns out they have a place in Pagosa Springs and were in town for a few days of riding, camping up the road on Monarch Pass.  We exchanged information, and I invited them over for dinner to discuss plans to ride in the next few days.

Our first plan was to meet at the F Street bridge on Thursday to ride the Arkansas Hills trails.  Thursday morning we loaded up bikes and drove down to meet Jason and Christine at the trailhead.  The wives joined and I gave the group a mellow tour of the Arkansas Hills trails.  

After the ride Jason said some of their friends from Pagosa Springs were coming to Salida to ride on the weekend.  Saturday’s weather was cool and rainy and by the time the sun came out, I was distracted with things around the house so ended up not riding.  Saturday evening Jason texted me to say some more friends were coming in on Sunday and they want to ride the Monarch Crest.  Would I like to join them?

Absolutely!  I hadn’t done the Crest yet this summer and had been jonesing to get up there.  Making it a group ride was the icing on the proverbial cake.  The sprinkles on that icing?  The Pagosa bunch were experienced riders.  Several of them had done the Crest multiple times before.  I was pumped.

Sunday morning, we headed to the top of Monarch Pass to meet the group.  There were seven members from Pagosa Springs, my friend Jason and myself.  Our group of nine headed up the road under the gondola at around 8:30 a.m. to start the ride.  

Stopping to regroup at the top of the 4WD road climb before the official start of the single track.

Topping out at the high-point of the trail, just under 12,000 feet on the Continental Divide.

Traditional rest break at Fooses Creek where the Colorado Trail meets the Continental Divide Trail.

Climbing into the high meadow after Greens Creek.

Stop at Marshall Pass for a snack and bike check.

Back down into the trees along the Colorado Trail. 

The thing about the Crest is, it’s a world-class spectacular ride, but at 35 miles it’s not to be taken lightly.  Everyone talks about the 6,000 feet of descending, but what you seldom here about are the 3,000 feet of climbing involved to get that descent.  When you get to Marshall Pass, you’ve been above 10,800 feet for something like two hours.  The mileage combined with the altitude is a lot if you’re not used to it.  

After the fast 4WD road descent to Marshall Pass the trail turns up again and you’re faced with the second most significant climb of the ride, along the Colorado Trail to the Silver Creek Trail.  When we got to the Starvation Creek trailhead, we stopped again for some group decision making.

As I recently discovered, the Starvation Creek trail is a beautiful option for bailing off the Crest.  Initially, five of our group decided they’d had enough fun for one day and were going to head back down.  After some discussion two more joined them, leaving just two of us, me and my new Pagosa Springs friend Dave, dedicated or stubborn enough to go for the whole route.

We parted ways. The larger group headed down Starvation Creek, Dave and I started the climb up to Silver Creek. At the Silver Creek trailhead we stopped for another snack before beginning the long descent.

It’s always fun to ride with someone of similar ability.  I’d say Dave and I were pretty well matched in the climbing department.  But despite my improvements in going downhill over the past three years, he definitely pushed me on the descents.  

Dave dropped into the Silver Creek trail with me in close pursuit.  It was probably the fastest I’ve ever ridden that trail.  The whole thing was kind of a blur.  We caught three other riders on the way down and before we knew it, we were at the 4WD road that takes you to the Rainbow Trail.  Dave said something along the lines of, “That sure went by fast.”  Yeah, no kidding.

Starting the Rainbow Trail.  

The Rainbow Trail is more flowy than the Silver Creek Trail, with some ups mixed in with the downs on what is — at least for the first six miles — mostly smooth bench-cut through thick forest.  Dave and I were ripping along at a healthy, but I wouldn’t say excessive pace.  He offered to let me go first but I was happy following his wheels.  

Then, about five miles into the trail, my day went from glorious to shitty in a heartbeat.  Coming around a sweeping right hander, where the left edge of the trail should have been, I suddenly found my front tire in a rut carved out by someone who went a little heavy on a motorcycle throttle.  My tire washed out in the soft, churned up dirt sending the bike sideways and slamming me to the ground.  Ugh. 

I skidded to a stop.  As the dust cleared, I did the usual extremity check.  Nothing seemed broken but my whole right side was scraped and cut.  My bike didn’t fare as well.  The handlebars were spun around 180 degrees and I had the unpleasant task of untangling them by dragging the right brake lever back over the top tube, scratching the paint a second time.  Worse, my seat post was rotated 90 degrees in the frame and I could see one of my pretty carbon seat rails was broken.   Double ugh.  

As I was collecting myself and performing trail-side bike maintenance, I heard Dave shouting my name from across the gully that we had just been heading into.  He walked back to check on me just as I was remounting my bike.  

“You ok?”

“Yeah, mostly. But I’m going to be slow for the rest of the ride.”

Riding a bike with a broken seat rail is awkward.  Basically, it puts one of your ass cheeks at the correct height for pedaling and the other one about an inch lower.  You end up sitting kind of sideways. Back in the day when seat rails were steel, you could pedal like this for miles or until your back or your butt gave out.  It was uncomfortable but that single rail would support you.  With today’s carbon rails, not so much.  I knew it was just a matter of time…

Sure enough, about a mile later the second rail snapped sending my seat and seat bag flying off into the woods. I was left with nothing but the sharp front end of the rails sticking out of the top of the seat post.  Basically, a carbon anal probe.  Ok, I guess I’m riding home standing up.

We were about a mile from the last bailout on the ride, a rough 4WD road that cuts across the Rainbow Trail just before the Rainbow gets rugged.  Even though I had never taken it, I was sure it would take me down to the Silver Creek Road where I could coast the remaining 10 miles or so to civilization.  I told Dave to go ahead and finish the ride without me, I knew the way home.  

I carefully coasted down the 4WD road, which popped out on to the Silver Creek Road like I suspected, then down the Marshall Pass Road and eventually to highway 285.  To my disappointment, there was still no cell service when I reached the highway so I had to coast all the way down Poncha Pass to Poncha Springs before I could call the cavalry (my wife) for a rescue.  

The aftermath.

Colorado pain relievers.

Despite the lousy ending for me, it was still an amazing day.  It was fun to ride with a group of strong riders on such an incredible trail.  Three years on, I still can’t believe it’s just one of my local rides.  To say nothing of the kizmit that allowed me to run into my old friend at that moment, on that day, at that place, that brought us all together.  Remarkable.