I was doing a gravel ride the other day when I encountered a problem that I’ve only seen happen in the mountains. A first-world mountain problem, if you will. No one’s going to starve, get hurt, or die but it did sort of mess up my plans for the day.
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In this season of transition between autumn riding and winter skiing it’s a good time to stop and reflect on the past year to give thanks for what we have.
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So a couple of days ago I was JRA (just riding along) when I heard a loud bang from the back of my mountain bike.
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Pandemic weirdness and the occasional cleaning day aside, since retiring and moving to Salida, our lives have pretty much felt like one ongoing vacation every single day. Riding, hiking, skiing, life is indeed good. But even living in God’s country, sometimes you need a change of scenery.
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After my recent ignoble defeat on the Wetterhorn, I was thinking that I would be ending my 2022 climbing season on a down note.
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In my ongoing pursuit to climb Colorado’s 14ers, so far I have managed to finish 18 out of 58 of them. That puts me squarely in the beginner-intermediate category, I think. This year I’ve been trying to improve my skills and fitness by focusing on longer and more difficult climbs. And so far, I’ve had success.
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In keeping with a Colorado tradition I remember since I was a kid, we took a drive into the mountains this weekend to view the changing aspens.
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Peak bagging is a strange pastime. Getting up at gawdawful hours of the morning, driving all over the state to spend all day walking up and down steep slopes until your toenails turn black all because a mountain appears on some arbitrary list. Is a 13,000-foot mountain less worthy of climbing than a 14,000-foot mountain? No. But the 14,000-foot mountain is on a list. Actually, the 13,000-foot mountain is on a list too, a different list. But one list at a time.
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