Three Mile Ridge

Jeff and I split for Idaho on Saturday after everyone else begged off with a bunch of lame excuses.  "I'm going to a conference in Sweden the next day", or "My ass is still sore from getting that shampoo bottle remove from my rectum", or "We aren't sure we want to go on an exploratory ride."  Despite my inducements (including a new tube of KY), promises that we had solid beta on the ride including GPS tracks and rumors of a screaming downhill, I was unable to persuade anyone else to join us on another Idaho exploration.

 I'll confess that a part of me was a little pissed and I couldn't help but think, "What an effete Bartles & James sipping, latte drinking, weak kneed group of pansies." I was surprised by the negativity of my thoughts and I immediately had to stop and take a good look at myself in the mirror, not literally. Literally I looked at my faint reflection from my sunglasses. I then I realized what a self righteous, arrogant shithead I was being. No one had made me the Ayatollah of the weekend ride.  Everyone was entitled to ride whatever trail they fancied.

After all if someone fancies shampoo bottles during play time, I wouldn't want to join in, but since I'm not a butt Nazi I'm not going to throw a hissy fit to stop them.  I would suggest that rather than using a shampoo bottle to use something better designed with a string and with tapered ends on both sides. This is not from personal experience, but advice imparted my way by a surgeon who has seen his share of rectal foreign bodies. Why he shared this with me I'm still not sure.  My only near experience has been for a digital prostate exam.  Another thing to look forward to as you get older.  Apparently when the anal sphincter stretches and then closes quickly it can go into spasm and tapered ends are easier to pull back out than a flat bottom.

If I'm not going to object to sex toys and fetishes why should I get all worked up over some of the crew wanting to ride some of our other signature trails.  Sign Creek, Fire Creek, and Warm Springs Ridge are all superb trails with smile inducing downhills worthy of fresh knobby imprints.  Sign Creek is one of favorites and could have even tempted me to change destinations, if it hadn't been closed by the little publicized Copper Mountain Fire.

I was also a little surprised. I figured everyone would be pumped to try out a new ride. I knew Jeff would be in. He has mentioned trying to find the Three Mile Ridge Trail numerous times. I assumed everyone shared our excitement at discovering new single track. In retrospect I had a similar reaction from the crew when I proposed the Wagonhammer expedition earlier this spring.

Shuttling the ride was a hassle with 2 people and two vehicles.  Drive over Lost Trail Pass and down the other side 14 miles to Gibbonsville. Drop one car. Drive back up Lost Trail to Chief Joseph and then start. Warm Springs is so much easier. Just drop a car at Medicine Springs on the way up.

I don't think Jeff, being more sober minded and calm shared my passing negativity.  Anyway it is hard to be pissy when you are riding fast and feeling lucky to have discovered a new fast downhill to add to our arsenal.

As anyone who has ever toured out to Anderson Mountain in the snow season to genuflect through the meadows has discovered, the road sticks to  the tree covered ridge and only allows occasional glimpses of the surounding country.

Riding the road, I was amazed how fast the meadows came and were gone.  Six miles of pleasant road dead ends at the site of the old Anderson Mountain Lookout.  Our hopes of escaping the inversions and smoke was in vain.  The fires around Salmon and the Big Hole had filled our neighboring valleys with the same blue haze.  All the ridge lines were fuzzed and indistinct. 

This was also our first chance to scout the rest of ride.  From our vantage point we could see the ridge curving over to Nez Perce Point and using the map and GPS guide we could identify the long Three Mile Ridge dropping into the bottom of Big Hole Pass.

After taking in the view it was time to find to Continental Divide Trail.  I have impressed it the past by how discrete the CDT is marked.  The intent seems to be that if you want to ride or hike the trail, you need to have some map skills and you need earn your access.  The same thing applies here.  Only a small cairn indicates that the side road is the correct one.

Turn around the way you came and take the first fork in the road you find on your right.  It should be about a half mile back.  Follow the road until a trail takes off to the right and a tree blaze is engraved with the CDT marker. Four and half miles of rolling CDT trail are ahead. After a rolling descent for the first half the above sign might be visible. This is the low point of the ridge.  After this is 1200'  of mostly rideable climbing with two manageable hike a bike sections.

Climbing through the burn that encompasses the top of Nez Perce Point this sign will be evident, along with no fork in the trail. Just snags and deadfall in the direction of the arrow.  Don't believe this sign. 

The real Three Mile Ridge Trail starts about a quarter mile past the point, and a nearly identical sign. As the sign shows there is also a Nez Perce Ridge Trail still awaiting a future exploration. Any takers?  

Finally time for the downhill.  This is how it was described to me by a Salmonid. "The descent is 3000' vertical of berms.  If you ski...think SuperG on your bike...or carving the groomers on your Phat sticks!"

Personally, I thought it was more GS than Super G.  Dropping 3000' in 7 mile the ridge reminds of a faster, longer, steeper, more swoopy Shannon Ridge.  The trail has seen some mild ATV traffic which has widened the trail into a faint double track, but luckily some big trees that have fallen at the bottom stopping most of the motorized traffic.

If the descent was more accessible and someone had time to get it dialed in, you could sucked into this trail  about as fast as a bottle of soapy Pantene can disappear past the anal rim.

The ride went faster than we anticipated. We managed the 20 miles in what felt like a leisurely four hours. Time in the saddle was three hours.

We managed to climb 2000' with half of that on the Anderson Mountain Road and half on the ridge.

4500' of downhill.

Skipping the grease at the Broken Arrow, Jeff and I felt fresh enough to contemplate adding on Warm Springs Ridge and trying to catch the late group, before deciding to lounge at the bottom of Warm Springs and wait for company for the beer.  Next time though I think three vehicles and a shuttle down both sides of Lost Trail will be in the cards.

Ward Mountain

Reading the paper this morning I noticed that the county health department declared the air  quality to be unhealthy.  That must explain why I'm still coughing and hacking after riding through the smoke last night. I had managed to convince myself that we could ride on the Westside and rise above the remains of lodgepole wafting through the air and lodging in my lungs.  Unfortunately for the collective health of the mountain biking community I wasn't the only one who's desire for some time in the saddle outweighed our desire for fresh air. Although I guess it could have been worse, we could have stayed home and had smoke blown up our asses at the Republican Debate.

For those who missed it. I have some a quick summary of the highlights.  Perry is convinced that the fires and drought in Texas have nothing to do with anthropogenic climate change, but rather are secondary to not enough prayer.  Bachmann agrees that the fires have nothing to do with global warming, but believes the fires are because the governor of the state is the antichrist. Romney agrees that global warming might be a factor, but doesn't want to anything about it because regulations might ban his favorite hair spray.  The one thing all the candidates agreed upon was that Obama was black, not that there was anything wrong with that.

Whether or not the hour or two I lost in life expectancy was worth it, I guess I won't know until I'm on my death bed, assuming I make it long enough to make it to a death bed. Right now I just hope my throat stops burning and stop hacking.



 Not having enough light for an after work push for the summit we did our usual short Ward Climb a quick warm up jaunt out to Sawtooth canyon and back before starting the climb with the goal of going as high as we could before we ran out of light. For most of that meant most of the way through the burn before the trail was block by a downed tree that would require a chainsaw bar bigger than we would to haul.  Eric and Quentin had more ambition and soldiered on to the lookout below Raven Rock.




On the way down I could notice in the bushes turning red and the grasses golden.  The dust from Warwick's tires was quite obvious straight ahead of me. All signs that fall is upon us. All we need is a nice rain to squelch the fires.  At the top I had a slow start when I clipped a tree and managed to do a complete flip on the dismount before landing on my feet (visible in the first video).



The remainder of the descent as long as I stayed far enough back to avoid compounding the smoke inhalation with dust cloud.



One topic that did not come during the debate was the evolutionary roots of the female orgasm, primarily since most of the debaters don't consider evolution settled science along with climate change. After all no one believed Galileo for a long time either due to his imprisonment by the church hierarchy who  were scared by threats of heresy to their dogma.  Later on in the evening, Obama acknowledged that he was black, but was open to negotiation.

Rumors are that next week's ride will be at Lake Como for the Un-Como ride.

Bear Creek Overlook

Must be a bunch of mommas in town for the summer family visit, since their boys were missing in large numbers this week. I can understand not going for a ride while family is town. If your Moms and anything like mine, my routine activities send her into a tizzy or worry. She thought biking was safe until see discovered then I said I going for bike ride did not mean tooling around town on a cruiser, but rather meant zipping down narrow root and rock encrusted trails lines with immovable trees. Since then see has added biking to the list of hobbies see mentally translates into a safer activity to maintain her deliberate ignorance of my risk taking predilections. So for her a day of skiing is sitting home by the fire drinking hot chocolate. Kayaking is swimming laps at the pool, and biking is weeding the garden.

So I guess the mommas boys can get a pass if they are trying to honorably deceive their moms and keep them in blissful ignorance. Hopefully there was some fun family cruising around town. Otherwise I don't want to hear your namby pamby excuses like I'm recovering from chemotherapy or it was my wedding anniversary.

As Ventana Jeff predicted the winds shifted and blew a hole in the smoke around Victor.  Smoky to the south from the Saddle Complex Fire and smoky to the north from a fire in the Selway. Dean has returned, riding his new El Rey frame that looks just like his old one except for the absence of the cracked aluminum.

Another last minute work emergency pushed my lateness to the breaking point and I had to cheat driving 2 miles up the road to the fork between Gash and Bear Creek Overlook Rd to catch up. Parking this winter is going to be challenge with sleds and trailer.  A whole crop of "No Parking" signs have sprouted and blossomed.

Uniting with the three remaining dedicated backcountry cyclists without weaning anxiety disorder, I discovered I had forgotten my pack and water,  leaving me with the backwoods options of foraging for residual huckleberries and drinking at stream crossings.

We made quick  work of the remaining 3.5 miles of fire road and 2 miles of nontechnical (by Bitterroot standards) singletrack to the overlook, cleaning up a few trees that had recently fallen.  While climbing we passed a couple of hikers who were on one of the well established illegal shortcuts between switchbacks.

This reminded me that this is another one of the trails on the chopping block because of its "wilderness potential". A two mile dead end trail to an overlook an the edge of a shear cliff, and according to the Sierra Club our presence would ruin the pristine trail, unlike the pure of heart virtuous hikers who never ever create shortcuts and also never seem to clear trails.

Speaking of the Sierra Club, I found this video on the Sierra Club You Tube channel advocating urban bike commuting.  Their bike antagonism even seems to seep into this supposedly pro-bike video. I'm not sure after watching it why I would want to sell my Mini.



Looking into the Bear Creek drainage and toward Sky Pilot I could see true wilderness and appreciate the need to protect the area and still realize that there is a difference between designating wilderness and protecting the land.

Something the wet nurse dependent wilderness extremists seems to have forgotten.

We opted to skip the sunset, my niterider being with my water, food, and camera. Thanks for the photos, Dean.

Following the ridge back down we added a extra mile of steep super fast single track to the usual two miles of trail.

Palisades

After last weeks debacle I was surprised that nearly everyone who rode last week came back for more abuse and everyone else kept avoided us like Yersinia Pestis.  While last week we looked like fools for attempting to best the Dominatrix, this week we looked like a group of lycra clad Einsteins. Well most everyone did.  Knolly Jeff reminded me more of Heisenberg and I rode more like Steven Hawking.

This week we had a secret weapon. With Eric and his elite troop of the Bitterroot Cackcountry Tree Service on leave, Ventana Jeff had to serve as this weeks commando and in a feat that would make Peter Graves (or Tom Cruise if you for some irrational reason prefer him) proud he successfully cleared the ridge to Willow Creek Trail.

For once I planned to make it to the trailhead on time.  I prepacked everything and had the truck load and ready to go. I  planned to leave work early.  Unfortunately events at work conspired at the last moment to delay me and keep me tardy streak alive, luckily for Chris.  If I had been on time Chris might still be wandering the Sapphire between Stevi and Corvallis trying to find the trail.  He had already made one wrong turn just getting to the trailhead and his GPS wouldn't have served much use since this was his virgin ride to Palisdades, and the lead group took the shortcut which we luckily took, too.  The Flying Spaghetti Monster works in mysterious ways.

The Flying Spaghetti monster was beneficent in other ways. Clouds shielded us from the sun on the south facing slopes and a brief shower helped keep us cool and also slowed the lead group long enough for Chris and I to catch up making this a true group ride up and down.The ever present snow field on the ridge was still there, but had melted off the trail since Sunday.

Above 8,000 ft everything is a little different. Evenings are chilly, even in August.  Flowers that had faded away at lower elevation are in full riot. Mosquitos are ever present even in the midst of last year's burn. I had hoped that one benefit of the Dominic fire would be a decreased in number of the tiny vampires that hang out beneath the Willow Mountain Lookout. Such was not the case. While the trees were toast, the blood suckers returned.  You might have noticed the lack of action shots and the nature shots in their stead. The little beasts were stalking the ridge as usual and no one was about to stop and wait.

With Jeff's much appreciated trail clearing and this year's abundant moisture, the ridge was faster and more enjoyable than ever. Doing the short cut on the climb saved us 2 miles of climb so it was only 11 miles of road for 6 miles of trail.  I was reminded again why this probably the premier trail close to town.  Fun rolling single track on the ridge.  Fast descents through the upper meadows. Just enough gnar on the technical mid section and a fast bottom with options for safe air.

The trail beyond Jeff's impossible mission has a fair number of downed trees that need to be cleared. Not so many that the flow was ruined, but enough that someone needs to get in their before more trees fall or someone's head get smacked by a leaner. So if anyone could sweet talk the Forest Service, like maybe while roasting some chiles at the Farmer's market, into sending a crew there it would be much appreciated. Otherwise we will eventually need to shuttle some chainsaws in.

Miraculously we make it out with the onset of nightfall. Beer and grilling were enjoyed by all.  Next week back to Buckhorn Saddle for a repeat, but this time snow free ride.

Divide Creek

In the annals of misadventures known colloquially as the Wednesday Night ride, there are certain rides that live on in infamy, and whether last night adventure will ever rise or rather fall to the depths of those memorable rides, only time well tell whether last night's ride will be told in the same breath as other escapades as Frog Hollow and the cabin of  Expired SpagettiOs, the Midnight Right of Bald Top, or the Bloody Glove and the Inner Tube of Salvation.

While darkness was involved, no projectile vomiting or bodily injury was reported.  Reflecting on the epics from the past I was struck by the frequency that either Bald Top or the trail it shares a drainage with Sleeping Child was involved. Even last year when I had the dubious honor of winning the FI award resulted from a wrong turn while trying to find yesterday's object of desire.

Earlier in the week there was a vigorous debate on the merits of mounting as expedition to Palisades versus Divide Creek.  No one had been on either trail yet and any knowledge of trail conditions was sorely lacking.  Eventually we obtained some beta that Sleeping Child Creek trail had been cleared. Information that turned out to be accurate if, as we discovered, incomplete.

Given the near debacle that was last year's adventure on this loop, I was surprised we managed to scrounge up 7 suckers  adventurous souls this time.  A few more, apparently those with more functional neurons, claimed they we going to ride came down with convenient emergencies.

The ride started in a routine fashion that didn't foreshadow the looming disaster.  The usual early risers with their ritalin deficiencies started promptly at 5:30. The rest of us a few minutes later. In retrospect I should have suspected that the aggregation of frozen water vapor that shielded us from the worst of the summer sun during the 10 miles  of dirt road was a tease to entice us past the point of no return.

Not surprisingly we had some difficulty location the trail at the top, but eventually blundered onto it.  We expected some deadfall so we weren't alarmed that we spent more time walking than riding  on the initial section.  We were still making good time and most of decided to reprise our roles in the Bitterroot Backcountry Tree service and start clearing some trail.   Joel, in his unique style informed us of our foolhardiness and proceeded on down the trail and to the waiting beer. I can't be all that critical of Joel on this, after all in the end he was right, and he still had to deal with all the crap that was still awaiting us still he decided to try the trail this year rather than turning tail and returning down the road like he did last year.

Eventually we cleared the a little over a half mile of trail from the first road cut down to Divide Creek. Using a modicum of judgement we decided to abort our efforts to clear any more trail and ride down the trail to the beer and brats.



It was just after this that the air was filled with a volley of invectives referencing, may she forgive me, the son of the blessed virgin, bodily waste, sexual intercourse, and oddly enough bananas. The way forward was a morass of deadfall obscuring the trail for an unknown distance.

Somewhere during the clambering over, around, or under the charred remains of the 2000 fires I had a vision of the personification of the trail. She was dressed in latex, hip high stilettos and a riding crop.  I was wearing a dog collar and leash. I had to submit and be prepared for degradation and humiliation.  The trail was telling me her name. Henceforth the White Stallion/Divide Creek/Sleeping child loop shall have a moniker befitting her status. I hereby deem the loop: Dominatrix.  By the time we staggered onto to Sleeping Child Creek trail, cleared as promised, my eyes were burning from sweat. my legs were bloody from some pungi sticks hidden in the downfall and I was approaching a near total bonking.

After a much too brief respite it was time to race impending darkness on the remaining 4 miles of trail.  Not too far along the finally clear trail, I found myself lying on my back in the brambles on the edge of the trail with my bike on top of me and thinking how comfortable it felt to be lying down and maybe I should just stay there on that comfortable bed of raspberries and thimbleberries and take a snoozer.

I had everyone else had out while I took some time to drain my camelback and come back to my senses. Eventually I remounted my bike for the ride and took a relaxed pace until I recovered.  With a mile or two left I finally felt energized and ready to take on the rocks and roots of Sleeping Child. Unfortunately for me darkness had won race and the last of the daylight was gone.  Luckily I have learned from past mistakes and I had the niterider with me to light up the path out, and found my way out only 10 or 15 minutes behind everyone else.

Last week while touring around B.C. for some hiking and biking I found myself in the town of Kaslo and some ceramic Beer Steins emblazoned with Kaslo Sufferfest 2011.  So if anyone is still interested in a weekend of abuse block out the first weekend of October.

As if there is any shred of doubt about the sanity of judgement of the crew, next week's potential ride is Palisades. Another trail known for long Forest Service Rd climbs, downfall, and no credible information as to whether it has been cleared.

Despite my better judgement I'm including the map here merely for curiosity sake, not because I want anyone else to repeat our mistakes. Just ride up Sleeping Child Creek from the trailhead for a technical out and back.

Lolo Peak

Last week, after fasting and in consultation with the high council, the wizened and revered Grand Wopwop decreed that the second Wednesday of July for the year 2001 would occur on July 12 rather than July 13, and therefore anyone journeying to great rendezvous will not be sacrilegious by imbibing the sacramental fermented barley on a day other than the sabbath.

Freed from accusations of heresy, several of us ventured forth on a pilgrimage to Lolo Mountain and the annual Great Rendezvous where we would share in the celebration of the secret rites and sacred rituals shared by the brothers of the wheel.

The Tea Society of Missoula has succumbed to the vices of the big city and have developed a more decadent free ride mentality.  Only one of us, the newly shorn Eric with the smooth skin of an acolyte, followed the path of purity and chose the penitence of a nine mile climb to the end of Mormon Peak Road. While the rest of us succumbed to the temptations of hedonism, and allowed ourselves to be shuttled to the start of Lolo Peak trail in the backs of the jacked up jalopies of the tea baggers.

Eventually 23 of us formed a congregation at the trailhead.  Seven from the heart of the Bitterroot and sixteen from the glittering city to the north. The rigors of the trail soon separated us into smaller clusters as we ascended 2.5 miles and 1800 vertical feet until the  righteous displeasure of the gods at our vain apostacy. For breaking the great commandment,  Thou shalt earn you vertical," our path to the top of Carlton Ridge was repulsed by great drifts of snow in July about 600'  and an unknown number of switchbacks below the ridge top. A plague of mosquitoes was sent to torment our exposed skin.

Despite their wrath, we could not be denied the pleasures of the descent. For those us raised on the rocks and roots of the Bitterroot, the trail came as a revelation. Fast and flowing singletrack with long sight lines and nary a rock or obstacle to slow us down,  the first 1.5 miles and 1200' of well buffed trail quickly disappeared beneath our wheels until we returned to the easy to miss fork with the Mill Creek trail.

A warning to those of the faith, the Lolo Peak trail is popular with the great unwashed masses being the main route to Carlton Lake and beyond to the tops of Lolo Peak. Riding this trail and hoping for a fast unencumbered descent might find their path to enlightenment blocked during those popular times known colloquially as "the Weekend."

At the fork I was reminded of the poem "The Road Not Take" by Frost. He had to choose which road to take, luckily we took both and turning down Mill Creek Trail we were on the road less travelled, and were rewarded with another 3000' of vertical. Whereas Lolo Peak trail feels like a highway. The trail less travelled was narrow and reminded my of the trails closer to home especially the rock gardens and tight switchback lower down.

After regrouping most of wayward sheep at the junction with the Lantern Ridge Trail we opted to keep descending, and the trail became ever more faint as it crossed, followed and then dropped off a series of old logging roads, with at least one flat and one superman accompanying the final stretch of trail.

While the lords of nature had been benificent in allowing our glorious descent of over 4000', their fury had not ebbed and one more trial was in store.  While some were still reverently completing the trail, and the rest were attempting offerings of lum and hops, the skies opened up in retribution pelting our undeserving flesh with hail and lightening up the sky with bolts of fire, and reducing to our deserved status as cowering mutts.

Despite the pools of water around the picnic tables, grills were fired up and sacramental fermented barley was consumed, except for those imbibing PBR in which case it was fermented rice and wheat.  Courtesy of the state we found refuge in the cozy surroundings of the covered porch of a small cottage.

Once our revelry passed the allotted closing time of Fort Fizzle and our male entourage I was concerned we might get a visit from the state patrol concerned about the propriety of our activities. In due course the revelry abated with the return of the shuttled trucks and the imminent arrival of another tempest.

My helmet cam travails persist and no footage was present on the card when I returned home. In lieu, I have drawn a quick animation that reflects as closely as possible my recollection of the sublime trail that the Tea Baggers had the magnanimity to reveal to our undeserving collection of Bitterroot ruffians.

We returned home singing hosannas for the 11 miles of riding and over 4000' of divine trail we had the good fortune to descend.

Be prepared for penitence next week, as the ride will be to Camas Lake.

Calf Creek

Some of you might recall this photo of my hand from a previous ride report and a discussion on the prenatal effects of testosterone on finger length.

Well some urologists in South Korea decided to see if finger lengths were associated with increased size in other body parts.  First they measured the ratio of the length index finger to the ringer finger (L[i]/L[r]).  For some reason they avoided the middle finger. Maybe flipping someone the bird means something different in Asia. Then after being anesthetized for surgery they decided to see how much they could stretch the unconscious patient's Johnson, or in Korea their Chaci. The assumption being the more the snake could they longer it would be when tumescent.  What they discover was that at least for Korean men the longer your ring finger is relative to index finger the more the wang can be stretch.  My interpretation of this study is; don't go to Gachon Hospital for surgery on your pride and joy.

If anyone is interested I'll talk to our local urologist, Dr. Munding  to see if would be interested in repeating the study for the members of Wednesday Night Ride, and I could post the results here.

On a related note I went to fourth of July fireworks extravaganza at the home of another Wednesday night rider. During this celebration of pyromania our host was the unfortunate recipient of a direct impact to his family jewels from an errant projectile resulting in an acute increase in the size of his already impressive conjones, and incapacitating him for the rest of the evening. I tried to get him to let me take a photo of the damage, but he demurred. I guess he was afraid I might post it on Facebook or blog about it.

For those of us who avoided serious bodily damage over the weekend, a ride was in order, and for the third week in a row there were six of us riding.  Riding in small groups has certain advantages, one being that we don't forget anyone, and if there is a ever a debate about who should be in front we can just roll a single die to pick whose number is up.

Starting the ride with temperatures at  90° and riding through the sand and sagebrush I had to question the sagacity of whoever suggested riding the exposed west facing slopes of Calf Creek in July, until I realized I was the sage.  Luckily I was modeling one of the new Wednesday night ride shirts, and this shirts made out of recycled coffee grounds kept me cool like I was hanging out at a cafe drinking an iced frappuccino. I don't do the Starbucks scene, so I've never had a frappuccino; I'm more of a Thai Iced Tea person, so it is possible that is how I felt,  especially if drinking one feels like an escaped scoop of whipped cream from the frappuccino melting on the sidewalk. Still the shirt felt comfy and has a loose, but not quite freeride loose, fit. There are two style one with a zipper and one more T shirt style.  The zippered coffee ground shirt will be $45 and the T shirt $30. Go and get one of each. Proceed will support IMBA and trail access.

There have been a few complaints, which I can understand, that the bicycle logo doesn't so much resemble a mountain biker as much as a triathlete.  Personally, the logo reminds me of a triathlete, known locally as the Goldenboy who promised to ride again with us.  His impressive physique like the person on the logo would make Atlas envious, not shrug.  Several months have passed since he made his promise and if he is lucky, maybe he is being distracted by having a beautiful randy randian helping him create an impressive fountain from his head. 

After reaching the top of the meadow, the trail enters the Ponderosa and follows more east and north facing slopes with a noticeable drop in temperature.  The moderate climate further back in hills created an atmosphere conducive to a pleasant rolling climb out of  Calf Creek and onto Butterfly Road, after the obligate clearing of the usual downfall.

Once on Butterfly a Warwick of FS road lead us to the ridge above the southern boundary of Calf Creek.  There is always one moment on the dirt road that is always disheartening for me.  After rounding the first sub ridge the entire length of the remaining climb, 1.5 miles and 500 vertical feet, taunts you across the intervening drainage.

Dropping back off the road the trail disappears above a grass covered hillside where we still need to do a little work to connect to the trail coming up from below.  Riding down the grass hillside with the brakes locked and trying to connect marginally controlled two wheeled skids all I could think of was trying to avoid inadvertently stretching my manhood if got stuck in the saddle as I hung my butt over the rear wheel.

Quickly dropping in altitude we ended up at the only log works in the Bitterroot outside of Warwick's backyard.  These were built several years ago by some local teens, out in the darkest, most distant portion of Calf Creek beyond the reach of State and Federal officials who tore down previous attempts.

Unfortunately, the years since have not been kind and yesterday was the first time in years that anyone had put down some rubber on their weathered surfaces. Several logs had rotted away and  the nails are losing their fight with entropy.

The remainder of the descent of was fast flowing non technical single track into the setting sun, with dust  blinding anyone following too closely behind.

Back at the vehicles we discovered Dean loitering around having given up on his attempt to chase us down. I guess we did forget someone after all, and unless he had dug up a Polyhedral die from an old Dragons and Dungeons game we wouldn't have been able to roll to see who goes first. 

 Once again we thanked Joel for his generosity in letting us use his grill and propane while he recreated up in the Great White North.

Big news for next week. First off the Wednesday night ride will be on Tuesday night.  We will meeting the Missoula Tea Baggers for High Tea on the slopes of Lolo Peak.  For those of us with jobs, it was too difficult to get up to Marshall Mountain for the Cross Country Series. The exact meeting time and spot on Hwy 12 is not yet set.

Blodgett Canyon

Yesterday was Wednesday which means that some of us must have ridden bikes. Although for a moment in the early afternoon a major gully washer put the possibility of the ride in doubt. Enough that that there was even an email blast to try and get the ride cancelled, whether from the rain or just as an excuse to avoid riding Blodgett I'm not sure.  Like they always do, the cumulonimbi rolled back out leaving blue skies by 5:30. So some of us, approximately six in number showed up to see how much damage we could to our bikes.

I have been avoiding Blodgett so far this rear; a little apprehensive to find out of if Ibis Mojo HD plastic bike was as tough as Ibis claimed. Blodgett Canyon is a geological marvel. It is marvelous that for the entire duration of the ride there are no soft spots to land. 

Blodgett is the antithesis of the current rage that trails have flow.  Speed is not the goal here. Learning balance, body english and line choices are more important. Most of us use the same granny gearing going down that we used on the climb up.

Riding up the trail trying to avoid bodily harm, I was reminded of an experience the previous day at the 

Bitterroot Aquatic Center with my kids and the lifeguards attempts to keep us safe.  Diving into the deep end. "Tweet, no diving allowed." "Tweet, no jumping in the shallow end." "Tweet, you are too big for the foam fish."  Tweet,  Get away from the ropes." "Tweet, no kids in life jackets in the deep end." "Tweet, no food by the pool."  "Tweet, no having fun."  Usually, having teenage girls in bikinis whistling at me is positive experience. Not that day.  I understand that the pool is packed with kids and the concept at swimming at a swimming pool is a novel concept during "open swim,"  and it is probably not wise to let teenagers use a little judgement, as if they had some, in enforcing rules, but jeez, mellow out a little. 

Usually the trail and rocks are enough of a challenge. This year we had the added fun of an overflowing Creek flooding the trail.

We only made it to the bridge this year.  Zeus or Thor or possibly the ionization of the air by the collision of ice crystals with graupel  let us know that another squall line was headed our way.  Turning back I was reminded of the eternal words of Thomas Hobbes, "nasty, brutish and short." 

The whole quote is a little longer. "The life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short." Poor maybe ,  especially if you like carbon fiber. Solitary, not if ride Wednesday nights. Wet definitely.

Chad may be poor, since despite our best efforts, we didn't break anything.  The plastic bike survived the trial by granite.

No helmet cam video this week. Had a camera malfunctions.  Current rumor is Calf Creek to Butterfly next week. Hopefully Jeff will be around to help find the trail back down.