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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The past couple of weeks of unseasonably warm weather had left us wondering if we were really in Colorado or back in Texas. The other possibility was the Earth had broken from its orbit and was hurtling toward the sun, a prospect that wouldn’t be all that surprising given the way 2020 has been going so far.
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While the start of winter is defined as a date on the calendar, specifically the winter solstice on Dec 21st, around here winter comes more in layers than by date.
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One of the things I’ve been most interested in trying now that we’re in CO is fat biking, specifically fat biking on snow.
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If I have one little gripe about our new hometown — and granted, I feel so lucky to be here it seems ridiculously whiny to even mention it at all — it’s that the road riding opportunities are limited.
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For me, one of the best things about being back in Colorado is having four honest-to-God seasons again. In Houston things go from hot and damp to cool and damp with maybe a week of sunny dry weather thrown in in March and November to serve as spring and fall. Leaves in Houston don’t change as much as they get old and fall off. And for the more part, things are green year-round.
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When you’re new in town it’s important to talk to the locals to get the low down on how things, you know, work. Where are the good restaurants? Who’s your vet? Know a good car mechanic? And when a local asks you to participate in something, no matter what it is, you do it. Hey, want to go for a ride? Sure! We’re hiking tomorrow, you interested? Would love to! Goat yoga? In!
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Under the category of ‘it’s a small world’, the lady that we adopted one of our dogs from in Houston just so happens to also have a place near Salida. She and her husband split their time between Texas and Colorado and we’ve stayed in contact with them over the years since we met. They were in town last week and they invited us for a hike up by their place to participate in the time-honored CO tradition of viewing the changing aspens.
The objective for the day was a hike up the little-known (at least to me) Pass Creek trail to Pass Creek lake. It was an eight-mile round trip on a glorious fall day in the mountains.
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Our house is on Methodist mountain, the northern most peak in the Sangre de Cristo range. Methodist is more of a big green lump than something spectacular like the Sawatch range across the valley or the Sangres further south. Most of the peaks around here are named after Native American chiefs or ivy league colleges so I was curious how Methodist got its name. I did some research (ok, I Googled for 30 minutes) but didn’t turn up anything definitive on the name origin. I like to think that it had something to do with Methodist pioneers who lived in the area performing long-forgotten rituals in the woods, druid pot luck dinners, bingo games and such. But I digress.
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