Canyonlands was exciting and I must admit a little
intimidating. After all, the trip was being arranged by
the legendary Steve Fassbinder, a.k.a Dr. DOOM.
Ira and Matt had filled me with stories of epic adventures
led by Doom, all of which were told with resonant enthusiasm
and a bit of disbelief at what they had done.
Passing up the opportunity to experience a mountain bike
tour with him would have been ridiculous. Besides I'd had it
up to my neck with muddy riding and was in need of the desert.
The first day of the tour was incredible. We drove 2.5
hours from Durango with a threatening sky chasing us. My heart
squeezed with a bit of fear and I questioned what I was getting
myself into. These dudes were serious adventurers, but my
attempts at not feeling good enough were shot down by their
infectiously positive attitudes. The weather stayed dry but the
dust storm to the head made that fifteen mile day seem much
harder. Also, as a novice mountain bike tourer I was
just getting used to the weight on the hips of my bike.
When we finally made it to the first camp we couldn't believe
our dusty eyes. The view was spectacular, the night cold with
only shakes of snow and a sunset that made me take a step back and
a deep breath.
Day two = rad. We woke up, rolled up our beds, caffeinated
and were on our way. Darcy, my team Vag comrade, departed leaving
me the solo female amongst the fourteen fellow adventures. We journeyed
around rocky canyon rims, we hiked our bikes up sections that made us
question whether we'd over-packed our panniers, and peddled through sand
occasionally squirreling out in sand traps. For the greater part of the
day we had good weather. We even had a bit of snow with regular sun breaks.
When we reached the turn off to our next campsite a sign had been posted
preventing us from riding further. It was only about a mile away and Doom
promised it was one hundred times better than where we stood tired, hungry,
and fearful of the rain that surely was on its way. With his motivation
we unloaded our bikes and hiked it to the promised spot, and, I say, it was
a great move. The area was peaceful surrounded by a breathtaking canyon
where waterfalls trickled and birds chattered. It rained a bit but soon
cleared up in time for me to dangle my legs on the ledge of the gorge
with my dinner of dehydrated pasta parmesan.
Projected to be a lot of time in the saddle the next day was the last
part of the tour for everyone except Jon and Doom. The geography was marvelous
in every sense of the word. Thanks to the rain that had been on and off all
morning the sand for a good deal of that day was packed and much easier to
ride on than dry sand. We took advantage of it and booked it as fast as we
could. On that last day I had finally gotten the flair for riding in sand -
keep your weight back and steer with your body. My quads ached from this
style of riding but I couldn't be bothered with that when all of my other
senses were overloaded with the amazement enveloping me. Here we were
rolling along terrain that was decipherable to the ocean floor, which at
one point it was. The vegetation seemed similar to coral and algae, and we
were like a school of fish blurp blurping our way through the smooth,
burmy trails between walls tattooed with hieroglyphics. The magic of the
experience was intensified as Jon Bailey played his harmonica so that at
one point my shit-happy grin came from a deep place in my guts recognized
as contentment.
That day we finished with a descent down elephant hill and booked it to the outpost where the options of wet food and barley pop seemed limitless. It felt amazing
to have accomplished the tour but at the same time sad that it was over.
We camped one last night as Doom and Jon prepared for their extended journey,
which as I write this from the comforts of my home more than a week later, they
are still on. Their senses are no doubt synchronized with that of the land, and
the lack of distraction from their focus of survival is enviable.
My suspicions have been confirmed - mountain bike touring is sweet. I'm already
scheming my next adventure. Ashland - North Umpqua trail, um, er, uh, hell yeah!
