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.