It’s almost 11 PM and I am typing. It’s taken that long for me to figure out what to do with the hole in my head where I entered the pain cave and was left suffering for two full hours.
I got off work a little before 5 with the intentions of adding another “trail that I couldn’t have ridden with the Fatboy” to my list of things done. I’ve headed up Brackens Loop a couple of times. Once was with Shelby on an early morning ride because I wasn’t paying attention and missed a turn. We flipped a bitch after about five minutes. Which I now know was probably the pinnacle of all my good decisions.
The thing I have learned about the Fatboy, is yes, it will take you over and through shit that probably shouldn’t be ridden on a bicycle, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. My problem is I equate fat bike miles to regular bicycle miles. a 10 mile trail should only take about 1.5 hours. Brackens loops is just over 8 miles, if you start the ride at the Grapevine trailhead.
I had looked at a map. I knew where the trail started and ended. The little loop on the map made it look quick, easy, dirty, get it done.
Let me tell you a little thing about Brackens Loop. It’s none of those things.
I have quickly learned that there are many different types of sand. Each one of these types has its own ride qualities. Sand goes from granular with rocks, stiff shit that can be pedaled through quite easily, to the finest, siltiest shit you have ever seen. The latter is nigh impossible to ride through, even with 4.6″ tires. If you add to that silty shit, the fact that horses frequent where you are trying to ride and have left an innumerable amount of divits that work basically like a chalk, trying to stop your tire at every turn. You may have a portion of an idea of what Brackens Loop is like.
The other problem with tonight’s ride was the fact that I really didn’t think it was going to take more than maybe 45 minutes. I have miscalculated things in the past. Recall the death march across Pine Valley Mountain of a couple years ago. But this was an epic number blunder that only I could muster.
I got home and then spent about an hour doing nothing. At which point, I realized that if I was going to ride I needed to get going. I loaded up quickly and headed toward the trailhead. I contemplated riding the road over. Luckily, my better senses took over and I drove.
I parked at the trailhead somewhere around 6. This left me about two hours to ride the trail. I had one water bottle and no food. And no, I hadn’t eaten any dinner.
This is all part of my universal plan of making cycling the most difficult thing that has ever been invented.
I pedaled away from the truck with the GoPro on and the Garmin clicking miles. I assumed I would be back at the truck some time around 7. I started pedaling. The dirt road was nothing special. The little bit of sand was no obstacle for the big ass tires I was pushing. I rode right past Dyno Cliffs and looked and looked for the turn off to Brackens Loop. This probably should have been an indication that would have left me turning around; I remember the loop starting just past the Dyno Cliffs turn off. Tonight, it was like 17 miles from there.
I finally found the turn off and almost immediately thought that I should turn around. The loop kept taking me away from where I knew the trail ended. You have no idea how many gullies, washes and ridges are between where that trail starts and where it ends exist. I kept thinking that I should turn around, flip the bitch, throw in the towel. But I persisted and continued. At some point, I realized that I had no idea how long this was going to take and I was really happy that I hadn’t removed the headlight from my handlebars. I’m not going to lie, I was thinking that it was a good thing that I had mentioned that I was going to do this loops as I exited the shop. At least someone knew where I was headed.
The sand continued. Up and then down. Up and then down. Every time I had to push that heavy ass bike up a hill, I cursed the idea of riding sand. I tried to enjoy the vistas. I tried to take the time to snap a few photos, for the website, but also so that I would remember how absolutely beautiful the trail actually was. Any moment that I thought things were finally going my way and the trail would turn and go up some stupid ridge away from where I knew the trail ended.
At this point, it was pointless to turn around. I knew where I had come from and I had no desire to try and do it in reverse. I was committed. I was going to have that gpx file regardless of how long it took me and where the fuck I ended up at.
Then I saw Church Rocks and realized how far I was from where I knew the trail ended. I almost cried. I continued pedaling, pushing, bouncing, pushing, pedaling, pushing, bouncing, pedaling. It was an endless cycle of trying to get a bicycle with big ass tires home. I wonder about my sanity, not that it was the first time, but I wondered about my ability to get out.
And then I thought I saw Ben.
Realistically, if I hadn’t completely and totally miscalculated how long and hard this was gong to be, I probably would have enjoyed pushing my fat bike up each and every one of those ridges. As it was, I just wanted to make it back to the truck without having to tell Prattipus that I had to eat my arm and there wasn’t even a rock that had fallen on it.
Yup, it came to that.
When I took this photo there was a hill that loomed before me. It was steep. It was sandy. It got steeper toward the top. I took the picture because the rock was amazing. Endless spires as far as the eye could see. Anyone interested in rock scrambling/climbing would had an orgasm right there, an untouched section of basalt that goes on and on and on and on…
And to be honest, I was fucking ecstatic to see that hill. It was the one that took me to the ridge that would drop me into where Prospector and Brackens come back together. It was a grunt to push a 30 lb bike up, through sand to that ridge. But once on top, it was mostly downhill back to the truck.
I coasted. At least as much as I could, back to the truck. I put the bike in the back and then made my way home. A full hour later than I thought that I would be.
I guess I rode more…
P. L. and R.
