Riding the Kokopelli Trail -- Part Two

I awoke Day Two feeling much better than I anticipated.  I could stand, speak and actually eat breakfast.  While Day Two was longer in miles, it was much lower on the Sexagenarian Mountain Biker Difficulty Index.  As I suited up for the day, I realized that I was indeed going to complete this entire ride.  One moment at a time.  I did take a slight detour from some of Day Two’s single track, choosing a more direct, paved road route to that night’s camp.  Still part of the Kokopelli Trail, that road was a godsend for me after the energy expended on Day One.

Once everyone arrived at the campsite, we prepped for dinner.  I busied myself with getting my tent up and quarters arranged.  Still too pre-occupied, in hindsight.  Joe, on the other hand, wasn’t so distracted with getting things set up.  While the rest of us were otherwise occupied, he retrieved his “solar shower” from the van.  This is essentially a large, black plastic bladder full of water, dangling a small showerhead.  When set out in the sun, it warms nicely.  Joe, being Joe, climbed up onto a red sandstone ledge, hung the shower bag, stripped down and then turned to the assembled dozen below and commanded “Carpe Diem!!!” at the top of his lungs, all the while, well, going “commando.”  In Joe's outburst, I finally heard what Kokopelli had been trying to tell me.  It was a turning point for me.  Our group was laughing and hollering; the taciturn “Hydes” on the other hand, I guess, weren’t so much into the “moment.”  The example was set.

We were having waaaaay too much fun…

Day Three broke with everyone in high anticipation; mileage-wise, it was to be similar to Day One, but with one large added challenge:  throughout the day, we would be climbing 7,000 vertical feet of elevation change.  We began the day at about 5,000 feet above sea level and would sleep tonight at 8,500 feet.  The difficulty is that we had to crest two passes – gaining and losing 3,500 feet through the first one, then having to gain it all back on the second summit.  That, folks, is difficult enough on foot.  Add in a 35-pound mountain bike and an additional 20 pounds of food and water, and you’ve got a truly taxing day ahead.

We broke camp around 9:00 am.  Chris and G, full of amazing competence and youthful enthusiasm, quickly disappeared from sight.  Joe, Steve and I took a more deliberate pace.  Picking his “moment,” Steve, in particular, vowed to stay in his “granny gear” for most of the day.  Day Three promised to be mostly about survival.  Steve’s was an excellent example to follow; no sudden moves, no drama, no bursts of frustration.  Just a methodical “left-foot-right-foot…repeat” cadence that covered ground very nicely, thank-you-very-much.  A calming influence on me.  I relaxed…and began to be more acutely aware of where I was and what I was doing. 

Looking at our resplendent surroundings for what must have been the first time, I was thrilled.

We were in the saddle for more than ten hours on Day Three.  After two sandwiches, a dozen fig bars, an orange, and apple, three Clif bars, four EnduroLite capsules, a gallon-and-a-half of water, spectacular mountain vistas, scrub desert, voices-in-my-head, snow, ghostly white aspen stands, a much-appreciated “rescue” bottle of water left by Chris and Steve about three miles from camp, a total of 35 miles and that Herculean gain of 7,000 vertical feet, I rolled into camp at Fisher Mesa around 8:30 that night.  Elated.  And feeling, somehow, cathartically healed.  Friends, attitude, perspective, and I’ll have to say, some true grit, had me feeling more like young Chris’s 40-years than my 60-plus.  I had conquered the mountain, on my mountain bike.  In the moment.

Day Four was mostly fire road downhill into Moab, Utah.  We did take a little diversion to ride the amazing and fun Upper Porcupine singletrack.  We finished the “UPS” with a killer descent that, at the beginning of this ride, I’d have never attempted.  A high point for me, I was euphoric, laughing like an idiot after cleaning that downhill.  After that section, we headed down the road to Moab.  Except for young Chris…he had to do the Lower Porcupine as well, befitting his expertise and zeal.

Twenty-five miles per hour on loose gravel, shooting downhill through switchbacks and hairpin turns.  A far cry from Day Three and its 3 mph pace up the mountain.  It was an amazing feeling of being “on the other side;” in so many ways, especially for me.  Arriving at the Moab Slickrock Trailhead, I realized that the temperature was well over 80 degrees.  After spending the night at 30 degrees, it was a nice warm-up.

We rode through town to the Moab Brewery for a short celebration, then loaded into the van for the shuttle back to Fruita.  Bone-tired, spiritually rejuvenated, profoundly blessed, I had the chance to reflect on the weekend as we drove back up Interstate 70.  Here are the highlights, in no particular order: 

• Spend 36 hours on a bicycle over a four-day period, and your butt is going to hurt.

• You're never too old to have a life-changing experience.  New beginnings are there for the finding...and seizing.  

• There is an afterlife, but it has nothing to do with Heaven.  It has to do with Love.

• I am the luckiest man on earth.

• I love my wife.

• There are a multitude of Americas:  the one I saw this week was free-spirited, full of life, circumspect, pragmatic and self-centered.  I wonder how many more Americas there are?  We truly live in a post-modern world.

• Try as you might, you just can't get away from assholes.

• While the media might try to convince you otherwise, each of us is ridiculously insignificant when viewed from the perspective of a red sandstone bluff. Nature wins. Period.

• Spend a long weekend away, immersed in a strange, magnificent, beautiful location, and the ongoing turmoil of the world gets put in its proper perspective.

• Everything in Life is made fuller, richer and easier with friends.

• Love touches you at the most surprising moments.

• Personal growth is what happens when you render yourself a fool. 

• Sometimes, by God, the view is worth the climb.

Even now, as I sit here in a Starbucks on Druid Hills Road, I'm not so certain that, every now and again, I can't just faintly hear a native flautist’s healing melody drifting in the wind.

What a moment…