Shooting the Gap Part II

Forearm is showing
some wear and tear

I tried shooting the left side of The Gap but my handlebars did not quite fit.

This is what I have to show for it.

I think from now on I will stick to the right side.

Chris

“You do something stupid, you gotta act like it didn't hurt"
     – unknown

Magic Kingdom

Longtrail. Those are hops bushes
behind us and IPAs in front of us.

Vermonters know this remote corner of their state as simply “The Kingdom.” We came to know it by names like Tap and Die, Troll Stroll, Sidewinder, Widowmaker, Kitchel, Skydive, Freefall, Coronary, and Coronary Bypass.

It started with ten guys, twelve bikes, three vehicles, and a nine hour ride. That’s a story right there, but for me personally there was an unexpected side story. We drove past childhood memories in Vermont like Queechee gorge where my sister and I used to drop pine cones off the bridge and count the seconds before they hit the river below. And the White Cottage where we’d stop for lunch with my grandmother during our annual summer pilgrimage to Maine. These memories were striking because so much has changed since I last saw these places as a teenager, but ironically one of the few things that hasn’t changed in all those decades is the simple beauty of a bicycle and a fall weekend with friends. A universal truth reaching out across the decades, connecting me to myself as a little kid…

The caravan at Longtrail.

Our pilgrimage included a stop at the legendary Long Trail brewpub in the heart of the Green Mountains. The table for ten was next to the beautiful Ottaquechee River in the shade of a very large hops bush. The Budweiser truck in the parking lot was a bit of an eyesore but even those guys get thirsty for a real beer once in a while. The pork shanks (a.k.a hocks) were the best pub fare I’ve ever had the pleasure of washing down with an IPA. Basically it’s a BBQ pork lollipop - slow-cooked and flavorful like ribs but with more meat and less mess.

Friday morning we awoke in The Kingdom to a steady drenching rain. Two coffee makers were brewing, biking videos were playing, and there was a lot of studying of Doppler RADAR. The green light came at the visitor’s center around noon when Penny told us the trails were open “rain or shine” and so we allowed ourselves to indulge in one of mountain biking’s greatest sublime pleasures – sloshing through muddy single track and over wet roots in the warm rain. There is something liberating when you surrender yourself to the wet and the slop, this rain ride was one of the highlights of the trip.

Front wheel is braking hard,
rear wheel about 18" off the ground.
If you don't think this could end
well, then you are correct...

The rain stopped the Saturday morning and by Sunday (and four huge loads of muddy laundry) the sun was out for our third day in The Kingdom. Troll Stroll was super-tight singletrack with lots of bermed turns and rollers descending through dense forest. Tap and Die, was a little more open, and a little faster. Both were masterful pieces of flowy single track artwork, we could have ridden them all day.

Sidewinder was a jaw dropping double black diamond uuberpipe. It started innocently enough, then we hit a bit of a traffic jam. I was near the end of our train, the word was passed back that someone was “sort of stuck.”  They eventually got unstuck or something and the train lurched and started moving again. We could not see what lay ahead but we could hear a lot of yelling and whooping, and a couple of blind turns later we knew why. We were dropping into a massive ravine (the uuberpipe) and then rocketing up the other side, then swooping back down. Over and over, each swoop getting larger, the ravine getting deeper and deeper and adding energy to each cycle. With each swooping dive, the bike could compress at the bottom due to the centrifugal force and you would rocket to the top of the next. Again and again. The walls of the ravine were so steep you could not dab at the top of a turn or you and your bike would tumble into the debris field at the bottom. There were a couple people who had crashed or somehow bailed, they were wallowing in the bottom of the ravine trying to avoid getting hit by the riders careening from side to side.

Trail feature on the downhill course
behind the house

Those were the signature trails, but there dozens of other trails all memorable. Webs which wound through a dense pine forest over a carpet of pine needles. A long tough root infested climb dubbed Coronary Bypass. Kitchel which was a steep free ride descent with rollers, tabletops, and HUGE bermed turns. It was the first machine built trail in the network and smooth as butter. So many others.

That little kid I remembered on the drive up would have totally approved of the weekend. He would have loved the bikes and the mud and the stories around the campfire. All of the jokes about Cranston and Dirty Penny and trombones would have been right at his level. He would have been right there with his three dollar bills on the kitchen counter. And the scrapes and bruises would have been tangible evidence of his epic adventure, stories to tell his buddies back home. The simple beauty of a bicycle and a fall weekend with friends…

Our home in The Kingdom

Chris

“Like dogs, bicycles are social catalysts that attract a superior category of people” 
     -- Chip Brown

“Kick his ball(s)”
     -- Leigh's Dad

YouTube link below but note it will not play on mobile devices (tablets, phones), must be played on a PC. I made the effort to assemble the video so the least you can do is make the effort to find a PC to play the dang thing...

Shooting the Gap

The trail gnomes have been very busy. Yet another named trail at Marsh Creek. I'm sure there's a story there somewhere...

Chris

"Every Ride Has A Story"
     -- Unknown

Wouldn't this be amazing?

I've always thought it would be funny to start a Friday Happy Hour blog post with something like "there we were, standing in the middle of the woods after our ride laughing and drinking cold microbrews, when two beautiful bikini clad maidens appeared out of nowhere calling our names and bearing gifts of Red Devil Beet Vegan Bundt Cake and locally grown Asian pears."

I mean, wouldn't that be such an amazing and bizarre opening line for a blog post?


Well yes, obviously that would be an amazing opening line. The only problem would be, where would I go from there? What could I possibly use next week to capture the readers' attention (all 3 of them)?

So I guess I'll just end it there. But wouldn't it be amazing?

Chris

"You guys are awesome."
     - Hiker that we passed on our way home (we didn't stop to argue).

Heady Topper

Alchemy at work on the early arrivals.

That Friday Happy Hour alchemy was at work again, spinning straw into gold. Or in this case spinning partly cloudy skies, a lot of ringworm infested mud, eleven riders and their crude steel contraptions into that slightly magical and twinkly moment of respite between the long workweek and the busy weekend. It is more than the sum of it's parts, but for the record here are some of the parts we had:

• A new bench-cut ribbon of singletrack (it's a big hit, particularly the stretch through a wonderfully scented pine grove).
• Four pints Heady Topper (lovingly hand carried by Kirk from the Alchemist's lair in Vermont) which was malty and piney and bursting with 8% goodness.
• A setting sun reflecting off the lake and making the trees behind us all twinkly.
• The people (eleven of them at the peak), because they really are the key ingredient and without them, you'd just be standing in the woods drinking a beer alone which I'm sure is one of the twelve signs of something not so magical.

You know the Alchemist is really cooking when it turns 6:00 and one or two people grab their helmets to make an honest attempt at getting home on time and an hour later they are still standing there, intoxicated by the Alchemist's twinkly Friday brew.

Yum.

Chris

“Like dogs, bicycles are social catalysts that attract a superior category of people” 
     -- Chip Brown

Belvedere and Cheap Hookers

It started with Belvedere and high brow discussion on the politics and pitfalls (potentially fatal) of trail building at Marsh Creek. We developed some cleverly double-talk regarding "Friday Evening Services" (a.k.a. the Friday Happy Hour Ride) and we even dabbled in the finer points of road riding tactics.

But alas the bikes in the driveway all had knobbies on them, the Belvedere was in a plastic water bottle, and the cheap hooker was 12% DEET and not interested in small talk so we around 9:00 we saddled up and she led us into the dark depths of Marsh Creek Madness.

The Gang of Eight. One is behind the camera.
Captain Belvedere is on the left.

Our first stop was the race marshals stationed midway up the rocky climb. They looked thirsty and they had a bird's eye view of a blind turn diving through loose sand into a 100 yard rock garden. We saked the marshal's thirst and cheered the racers before striking out for our final destination.

The ride to the ruins was generally relaxed pace, but occasionally punctuated by frenetic mad dashes to avoid interfering with racers on the course. We could hear the the music pumping and the crowd cheering in the distance.

At the ruins, the stonework was festooned with hundreds of Christmas tree lights. A temporary platform had been constructed 8' in the air between two trees straddling the trail. The trail dove under the platform before hitting a 1' drop into a 90 degree left hand turn. The entire area was bathed in a soft glow from the Christmas tree lights, and the trail was lined on both sides with revelers cheering on the riders. Two or three people stood on the platform waving what looked like flaming torches (and I hoped were actually glow sticks) whenever a biker dove under the platform. The scene was both bizarre, exhilarating, chaotic, festive, and a little bit dangerous (echoes of Belvedere and cheap hookers).

Racers descending lower Rocky Climb

Decending into this raucous scene as a spectator was amazing. The singletrack is downhill and very tight, like a glowing tunnel through the underbrush. But then we burst out into the clearing around the ruins and people were lining the trail, they were in the trees (platform), they are on the ruins, they were everywhere and they were cheering and the music was pumping.  For the racers who were spending over an hour on the course alone in their thoughts and their pain, rolling into this scene must have been like a bizarre hallucination before they dove back into the woods and the dark for the rest of the decent.

We ditched our bikes, settled in, and started passing a magnum of Peak Organic Espresso Amber Ale. One of the racers got swept up in the moment and got some air off the drop. He wrecked in the turn. The crowd roared their approval and support and he was back on his bike and rolling in seconds. Another tried to make a pass around the trees. A couple riders skidded to a barely controlled stop next to a drink table and helped themselves to some complementary electrolytes before continuing their race.

Once a year, the ruins turn into a city of lights

A little after 11:00 pm the gap between racers started to grow. Our supplies were depleted and Rob's swimming pool was beckoning. We saddled up for another frenetic dash down the race course and then picked our way along the old railroad bed in the dark (ouch) back to the neighborhood and the coolers and the pool.

We ended the evening with a nice soft landing, floating in the pool under the stars, reveling in our shared appreciation for bicycles, swimming pools, and laughter.

Now it's just 364 days until Marsh Creek Madness 2014...

"I got drank"
     -- anonymous liberal arts college professor

YNP Day Eight - A Tall One

Game Creek Sweetness

We are now retracing our steps back toward Jackson so we naturally begin reflecting on the trip. In particular, how six short days ago we were just starting off with no idea what lay ahead of us. We were struck by how we now felt so different from “those people” of just six days ago. That is how much the trip rocked our world emotionally, intellectually, physically, and I dare say spiritually. This is a very special place.

Back in Jackson the girls went shopping while I rented a Santa Cruz Tallboy from Hoback sports and hit the mountain trails. I was able to catch some single track from the edge of town (how cool it was following a gal on a Trek Fuel EX with a yoga mat in her Camelback across town). I rode Cache Creek Trail to Game Creek Trail (with a minor detour on Putt-Putt). It would be a 1,300 foot climb followed by a 1,300 foot decent (obviously). I was loaded with red corpuscles after 8 days at altitude and the climb felt pretty good. I was sweating plenty but because it was so dry, it evaporated almost immediately. The trails were spectacular, great flow and views and shoulder height wildflowers. 

At the top I took a breather while another rider joined to take in the view. We chatted for a bit and she gave me some advice on a modified descent route with “great flow” that would dump me about eight miles from town. The eight mile ride back would be a bit of a chore but she said it would be worth it. As she started down, she said to let her know if I wanted to pass. I thanked her but said that would be unlikely. 

The decent felt endless with expertly bermed turns, and breathtaking views that made it hard to concentrate on the trail. I could not believe I had actually done all that climbing, the descent felt like much more than 1,300 feet. Finally back in town I topped it off with a pile of pig from Bubba’s BBQ and a badly needed shower.

Chris