A couple of weeks ago, while the high mountains were in less than ideal condition for skiing and the local trails were too soupy from snowmelt for mountain biking, I headed up into the network of gravel roads in the Arkansas Hills for some random exploring.
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Ah, fall in Colorado. Seeing the days slowly getting shorter and feeling the nights gradually getting cooler. Saying goodbye to the hiking and biking of summer and anticipating the skiing of winter. Time to downshift, kick back, and take it slow while nature works on changing its pallet from green and gold to green and white.
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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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And for the ten of you who occasionally glance at this blog, thank you for your patience.
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Gravel riding is the zen of cycling. Mountain biking gives you that hyper-alert, most awake you’ve been in your life, double espresso chased with a Mountain Dew feeling. And road, while it can be meditative if you find a quiet stretch of pavement, generally ends up being done in traffic, which means staying constantly alert to the large metal boxes hurtling past you.
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When I’ve mentioned to my new neighbors that I’ve been riding the dirt roads and trails in the Arkansas Hills a couple of them have asked, “Have you been to Turret?”
Huh? Where?
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WARNING: This post contains material that may not be suitable for all readers. It contains bicycle maintenance descriptions and images that, while not necessarily disturbing, may cause drowsiness for non-bike geeks and irritability in small children. Seekingtimberline.com does not condone the activities depicted and discourages anyone from attempting them. Reader discretion is advised.
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