grand junction mountain biking


Friendship is the only cement that will ever hold the world together. – Woodrow T. Wilson

One of the things I LOVE about living in the Grand Valley is that it’s a small enough town that I frequently run into people I know when I’m out on the trail. Even at 6 am. Or 10 am. Or 9 pm. Now, granted, I try and go out of my way to meet people and am oriented toward the trail community right now… but that doesn’t lessen the enjoyment at all.

Today I was riding over to Dave’s for a meeting (since he just got back from the Epic Rides’ Whiskey 50 and had a lot of information to talk over). I decided to take the most-direct option through the Secret Stash (though I didn’t really go direct, but more of a round-about doddering route). The wildflowers are out in force and the morning was perfection.

I was on a singletrack skirting high on a hill and saw a trail runner far below me:

Runner aheadYou can maybe just see him as a dark spot on this picture. But my thought, whenever I see people ahead of me on the trail, is “Peeps. Let’s go get ’em.” (Thanks, Dennis, for that one. )

So I hit it. I had no idea where he was going or who he was or from whence he came, so it was a pleasant surprise when I did catch him and it was my friend, John! We both stopped and had a little “How are you? I’m fine. How are you? Good. Busy. Busy? Me, too. Stressed. Feels good to get out.” Seriously, I could spend a whole post telling you about how cool John is.

Went our separate ways, and I headed down one of my typical descent lines. But when I got to the wash, I was disappointed to find that the trail was largely obscured by massive piles of tumbleweed. It was interesting to observe the variety of emotions that provoked me in quick succession: frustration, anger, patience, then…. intrigue.

You see, the trail had started to change. Because there was far too much tumbleweed for a single-person extraction, the natural tendency of people to go around challenges rather than face them, had begun to alter the trail. Rather than keeping to the relatively-straight line of the wash, a trail had started to develop that rises up the walls of the wash to avoid the piles of weed.

It was fascinating to me. “Nature finds a way.” Or something like that. It felt profound.

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