My brain had a million reasons it could go wrong. It took all the willpower I had to keep getting ready. I was tired. My gut hurt. My right foot hurt. I was worried it would be cold and then KB came home and saw me and asked if I thought I was going to be too hot. Then I was worried it would be too hot. I hadn’t been drinking much water on my rides, so I was worried I wasn’t packing enough. Plus the calories, that’s always a big question and a hard one for me to answer seeing I rarely eat anything before or during activities.
All that to say, my brain was a mess and finally I just started pedaling, telling myself I’ll figure it out if any of those things become an issue. I always do.
2024 was like a slow-moving roller coaster in the dark. It started high, plunged into the low. Rolled through the flat low bottom for a while before jolting upward for a peak with an immediate drop. As I sit in the dark, I can try to predict what is going to happen next, but there is almost no point. The ups and downs have no pattern to them, no rhyme or reason as we say. Instead of finding a pattern, I eventually just hold on peering toward the black that is the future and wondering what is going to happen knowing this train is rolling and there is little that I can do to stop it as I am strapped securely in my seat.
The warmth of the air in the stillness of the Lounge’s backyard was immediately broken. My momentum had created a breeze and that breeze was piercing directly through my layers and stinging my skin. From the tip of my bald head, down through my covered arms, and most pronouncedly, it was jabbing hard at my chest. There were thoughts. With the state my brain was in, those thoughts immediately went to more what-ifs, but I was now in motion and motion begets motion. Instead of dwelling on those possibilities, I flip on my oft-used mantra, I’ll figure it out when I get there.
I know I have a windbreaker stowed safely in my handlebar bag. If the breeze gets too much to handle or I start to get chilled, I can stop and put it on. Instead, I keep pedaling knowing that the almost perfectly flat surface I am traversing is about to change abruptly and I will be slowing as I head uphill. This will create more heat from within and less cold from without.
I keep pedaling making no changes to my setup. As predicted, the climb brings plenty of warmth from within but is also sitting in the shade. Having not seen the sun yet that day, the air is still crisp and cold. My legs fall into the slow rhythm of getting a singlespeed up a steep hill. One leg thrusts down, the other pulls up, repeat. The fatigue from the proceeding 4 days of riding has coagulated heavily in my legs. There isn’t even any burn, just an apathetic, nah. They know any protest would be pointless. We’re getting up this hill whether they feel like it or not.
One of the worst possible feelings you can experience while running is when you catch a toe. While I like to call this crashing, it’s most commonly known as tripping.
The rock is on the top of a small dip in the trail. I didn’t even see it, but that feeling of complete loss of control was immediate. My instincts kick in as I am hurtling toward the ground. My arms go into “roll down the window as fast as possible mode,” my neck cranes back, and my right leg, the one that didn’t catch a toe, does everything it can to find purchase before this whole ship goes crashing into the depths. It lands on the trail.
Normally, this would mean that the cartwheeling crash that I am in is about to stop. One more kick-off with that leg and the momentum can be redirected forward instead of down and I can pull through this air-born antic I am currently engaged in. Instead, my foot finds no purchase. The spot it falls is covered in small, loose rocks. In the unbalanced position I find myself, this is a tipping point. All my weight and momentum are heading forward and downhill while at the same time, my right foot hits the ground and begins the cartoon banana slip maneuver.
My foot pops forward, my knee goes backward absorbing the weight of my body and the momentum of my fall. Suddenly, all the momentum toward the bottom of that hill is directed through my knee and backward. I feel a pop. I can’t say whether I heard a pop or not, but I certainly felt it and knew things were not going to end well. I fall backward catching myself with my left hand and right elbow as I go sliding on my back toward the bottom of the dip.
I come to an ungraceful halt. I’m now covered in dirt, my elbow is bleeding, but the obvious problem is my knee.
After a few minutes writhing on the ground, I pull myself up. My leg is screaming. I hobble, using my right leg as little as possible. Any amount of pressure and I almost hit the ground again. A couple of groups of mountain bikers pass me in this state. No one asks if I am ok. I somehow make it back to my truck. I get the dogs in the back, give them water, and sit on the tailgate. The leg is exploding with pain. I somehow make it to the cab and home collapsing on the couch as I enter the house.
The trail is soft. This isn’t helping my state of mind. It’s soft in places that I know are sand but are never soft. This trail seems to have been “discovered” by more people. It used to be trackless and hard. The extra resistance gives me a moment to hesitate, to think about just turning around. No one is out here telling me that I have to keep going. No one I guess but me. Luckily, the inertia is forward not back toward home. I keep pedaling.
I hit the dirt road thinking the resistance might finally be behind me. Instead, I am met with the slog that the Turkey Farm road can be slowly climbing its way up toward the base of the mountain. As these types of grades go when ridden on a singlespeed, I can find the right gear. I want to stand, but I’m going just a bit too fast. I sit down and my cadence isn’t fast enough to maintain consistence momentum.
My brain has given up on giving up. I’m committed to this ride. I just keep cranking waiting to get to Lange’s Dugway where I will leave the slog. I just hope the tumbleweeds aren’t too bad, but I have little hope that they will be any different than they were last time I was up there, completely choking the trail in a couple of spots requiring some ride-arounds.
The start of the year felt like a slow grind. This run was supposed to be the comma on that grind and the start of getting after it, my first 10-mile run in a while. I was feeling great. The climb was rhythmic and I fell into a deep meditative state. The downhill was a cruise and I was on track to match my faster times from a couple of years prior. That comma became an exclamation point finishing out the grind and dropping me into a state of immobility and depression. I have not learned how to be happy while staying still. Not sure I ever will.
I’m pleasantly surprised that the first choke point has been cleared enough to ride through. The 2nd as well, the third, nope, still gotta ride around.
The almost perfect grade feels good. The tread is firm. There’s little for my brain to complain about and I am starting to finally fall into a rhythm and I soon find myself exiting Alger’s Hollow onto the 901. This is the part I came for, I now get to ride the Cliffrose stuff.
I’m greeted by a sign, a sign with a name and not a number. This is a pleasant surprise. I was unaware that the signage had been replaced. I cruise a couple of green trails to drop to the trailhead and then follow the climbing trails to make it to the current top-out point. My legs are tired, but I keep on going. I don’t have too many options at this point. I stop and enjoy the moment at the top looking forward to my second run down PJ Party and feeling that the names have finally allowed my brain to map this trail network instead of just randomly picking directions at intersections.
PJ Party is a riot. It’s almost all downhill across a basalt field. It’s tight, fast and has some spicy A-B options. Spicy enough, that being alone, I stop and check ’em before rolling through. While I’m smiling and enjoying the trail, my arms and body are starting to rebel again. The rides leading up to this are heavy in my legs.
I hit the midpoint of PJ Party. I turn and climb back up to take Rooster, formerly known as Rick’s Ridge, back down to the Turkey Farm Road. While this trail isn’t nearly as technical as PJ Party, it’s fast with a few rocky moves to keep you present and really hard to not enjoy. Even with my wrists screaming, my tired legs, my shoulders and neck starting to be grumpy, I’m smiling when I roll out the bottom.
Being New Year’s Eve, I can’t help but contemplate the year. I can’t complain. The year was great, it just wasn’t what I had hoped. I lost a lot of fitness over the summer sitting in my chair drinking beer instead of being able to run and ride whenever I wanted. I was on crutches for two weeks and then told to let pain be my guide. I did a few short runs after four weeks and was able to more or less soft pedal before that. Moving without any pain wouldn’t come for another eight to ten weeks and deep bends on that knee wouldn’t stop hurting for a few months.
What I had hoped would be a return to long-distance mountain running, a fastpack of the Zion Traverse and High Sierra Loops devolved into me sitting in my chair drinking beer. A different type of slog, but a slog indeed.
I’m tired and ready for this ride to conclude and I can’t help but feel like the ride is a metaphor for the year. A slow slog that I just want to be behind me.
The next obstacle keeping me from being done is Ice House. I start down the trail. It’s rough with rocks strewn everywhere. It has returned to its previous, shitty condition, all the trail work be damned. The uphill isn’t too bad but the downhill makes my arms hurt and I have to stop multiple times to shake out my arms from trying to control my speed while bouncing around the basalt field. My upper body was tired, now it just hurts.
I roll out the road cut happy to be done but not looking forward to the Powerline Road. Unfortunately, this pig ain’t gonna pedal herself home so I head down the road. It’s actually in pretty good shape, very little soft sand and the steep climbs are short except for the last one. I figure I should at least try to make the climb. My hopes are raised as I start to near the top that I might actually clean this bitch. I’m cranking and then a new water bar I hadn’t ever seen pops into view. The slightly increased grade and loose rock cause me to lose traction and I come to a stop. Oh well. I push to the top.
A quick romp on T-Bone and some pavement and I roll back into the Lounge. Ride done. Year over.
Embrace Chaos. Seek Discomfort.
Great route and way to persevere! Reflecting on the year during a ride is a special thing. You get clarity that’s hard to access otherwise. Looking forward to more adventures in 2025 with you!
It’s always been my favorite place to find some clarity. Let’s get something on the calendar.