Ridin' Friday: Cache Creek Sidewalk or Why I Might Be A Masochist

As strong as you get, there will always be one more hill you can't quite pull off. I'm pretty sure that's in the Constitution. Maybe even the United Nations bylaws.

By the time I got to the Cache Creek Trailhead the Sunday of my attempt at Cache Creek Sidewalk, I'd proven that one pretty freaking thoroughly on the extended uphill it takes to get there from the main road. I wasn't too tired to keep riding or anything, but I did have to stop once or twice for the sake of my legs.

But at last I made it, and easily found the sidewalk. I mounted up, thinking that maybe if this was fun I'd try my luck at following the little connecting trail to Putt Putt (another trail touted by a ranger as fun for newbie single trackers) and make a loop of it. The view looking down from Cache Creek Sidewalk is pretty, and I was a-bristle with spit 'n' vinegar and curiosity.

I headed down a curving downhill portion of the trail that is liberally sprinkled with medium-to-large rocks. Rather quickly, I realized this wasn't going to be so easy. The thing about single-track riding, especially when you're on a single track with a steep drop on one side, is that when your front tires bounce off rocks, you just don't have a lot of time to correct your course. As I gained momentum on the downhill, I averted two near-falls, feeling a hint of anxiety rising in my throat.

Then I hit a particularly large rock and in correcting, bounced off another, then another. I realized with a little thrill of fear that while basic physics was in control of my bike, I was not. Then I was landing in a patch of brush on (thankfully) one of the wider patches of trail. After making sure I could sit up (I could), I realized my feet got knocked off the pedals and I'd pitched over the handlebars of my bike.

"Man, I wish someone were videotaping that," I thought. Followed rather quickly by "ow." Everything seemed to be working, despite what looked like a series of scrapes on my calf. Nothing serious, but one of those falls that pays for the helmet. As for my bike, which took the brunt of the fall, the handlebars twisted around themselves so that the brake cables were a tangled mess. I got them all untwisted, and established that everything on the bike seemed to be working.

Evidence for my masochism #1 - I then got back on and continued riding. Cache Creek Sidewalk just isn't that long, I figured. Plus, getting bucked off a horse is way scarier and that's happened to me before. What kind of wimp can't get back on a bike after a little fall?

So I kept going. And you know what? I am not the tiniest bit ashamed to say that it was hard. Scarcely a straightaway on the whole trail, and not one rock-free patch. How anyone gains momentum enough to make it up some of the hills I can't tell you, since the entire practice of single-track riding has got to be one of the more anti-momentum activities since sitting. God knows, I finished, but it was one of the hardest 1.5 miles of my life. It was gorgeous, but between shoving myself forward, trying not to rebound down the cliff on my right and sweating/swearing a lot, I didn't really pull off pictures.

I reached the end, and realized I must look really disheveled. Not because I was actively thinking about my appearance, but because a man on the main trail with his kids did a double-take and asked if I was all right. I explained the fall, and the man insisted on looking over my bike. Turns out part of my difficulty in controlling the bike was because I knocked out my front brakes in the fall.

See, your brakes are supposed to look like this:

And one of them did. However, the other one looked like this:

If you're good at those "find the difference" puzzles, you already know what's wrong. Spoiler - If you guessed that one of the brakes was mysteriously missing the little silver bolt holding the cable into the actual brake mechanism, you are correct. Without it, using the brake had no effect on the actual motion of the bike. I still had my back brakes, which are more important in mountain biking, but it kind of freaked me out. When I made it to Hoff's for a repair, it turned out I also bent a key part of my gear shift and knocked both wheels out of alignment. Since Hoff's is awesome, it only cost me $30 to fix it all, and no charge for the new bolt, but who knew a little fall could do so much damage?

Evidence for my masochism #2 - looking back, I think I had a good time. I still want to do single-track riding. I can think of what I would do differently and I am as excited as ever to see if I'm right. By the end, I recall, I was a lot closer to getting this right. Surely getting it totally right is just around the corner.

Am I insane?

Or am I just a bike person now?

And is there really much of a difference?

Ride Preview: Cache Creek Sidewalk

By the time I took this ride, I was chomping at the bit to get some real trail riding experience. While riding a bike in general is simple, true mountain biking is harder than you think it should be and I was (and am) impatient to get the learning curve portion of this whole thing over with.

Specifically, I was hoping to get out on some of the trails I discussed with the U.S. Forest Service ranger a few weeks back. He'd mentioned several trails and routes that would be good for a "single-track" beginner, and all of them are accessible from at or near the Cache Creek Trailhead.

Living around here, you hear about the Cache Creek Trail so often that you know what it is long before you know where it is. Running parallel to it is a smaller, dirt trail called Cache Creek Sidewalk that meets up with both the main trail and myriad other trails in the area, and is apparently a good first single track bike ride.

 

Single track, as I found out, refers to the fact that (as this Forest Service pic shows) these trails are narrow, with room for a - gasp - single track. In the Jackson Hole regional vocabulary, this phrase is as commonly used as "pop" in the Midwest, "crawdad" in the South..."Oops" in Washington D.C.

In order to really know how to mountain bike, you have to be able to do it.

So I wanted to do it.

However, in the interest of not getting carried away, I figured starting with the sidewalk was probably wise. One Saturday when I had to work, I resolved to reward myself for the abbreviated weekend by tackling the ride Sunday afternoon. Now, I'd never been up that way, and never really tried a single track trail, but I am not one to back down from such a situation, even when it would be a good idea to do so. I went home from  my day of work resolved - tomorrow, I would dip my toe into single track riding.

My route: Snow King Drive to Vine Street to Kelly Avenue to Redmond Drive to Upper Cache Creek Drive to Cache Creek Sidewalk and back along Cache Creek Trail (kind of complicated-sounding, isn't it?)

Surface - Paved road until Upper Cache Creek Drive, which turns to dirt-and-gravel partway there. Then dirt on Cache Creek Sidewalk and Cache Creek Trail

Incline - Nothing all that significant. Anything there is ends up being pretty short.

Distance: Around 7.5 miles one way. Cache Creek Sidewalk itself is 1.5 miles long.

What you'll see: The actual Cache Creek runs parallel to the trail below the whole length of the sidewalk. Plus great views of the hills and ridges in the Greater Snow King Recreation Area. And wildflowers. More now than I saw on this ride.

Today in Obnoxious Bike People: "On Your Left"

~Because sometimes hardcore bike people pick up irritating habits and think they're normal. And that is irritating.~

In the case the increasingly perfect weather in Jackson Hole didn't tell you it was nearly July, the increasing number of people using the bike paths would give you a hint. That means you'll almost certainly end up with someone trying to pass you. There are a few ways bike people can be obnoxious when they pass, but I choose to rail about one that's been reeeeallly getting on my nerves lately.

Back when I first got my bike, I explained the usefulness of my bell in great detail. Reader's Digest version: it just plain makes sense to have one. However, a large number of people who, by their clothing, consider themselves Proper Cyclists, don't bother with them.

You'll notice, the gentlemen in this picture (of bike lanes in Portland, Ore., fyi) don't seem to have them. Given my experiences in Jackson, what probably happened here is that the gentleman on the right - yeah, the one with his pants tucked into his socks, poor guy - was biking along, minding his own business.

Suddenly, he heard a kind of muffled sound behind him. It probably took him a few minutes to realize the following: the sound was a human voice, it was speaking to him, and one of the words was "left." By then, the gentleman on the left, whose pant legs are not tucked into his socks, was whizzing by him, shooting him a mildly dirty look for not getting out of his way quite enough. It is at this point the guy on the right realizes what he heard was this other guy saying "On your left,"  thereby trying to alert him that he'd be passing soon.

I say unto thee, Bike People, that the guy on the right was not acting dickish, despite what the passing cyclist thought. It is not his fault that it's next to impossible to a) hear that half-call, half-mumble people who do this somehow manage to achieve and b) distinguish what on earth you said. Especially if it's windy, or there's running water nearby, or if the person you're passing has a loud heartbeat or there is...any ambient noise at all.

This apparently happens because bells "take up handlebar space," and this is Really Annoying if you're a Serious Biker. Doing whatever in God's name you're doing that requires every inch of handlebar to be at your disposal - seriously, a bell is not exactly a space drain. However, I'm going to go ahead and point out it's equally annoying to get that freaking dirty look. Not to mention the part where it's a safety issue for me to get far enough to the side to avoid collisions. There is no reason to be sneaky here. Stop snitting about and get a damn bell.

As I said, it's been getting on my nerves lately. In case that wasn't abundantly clear by now.

Tuesday Biking Jams: ACDC Duo

When you bike in the morning and are me, you invariably start off with a motivation problem. Generally speaking if you do anything in the morning and are me, including but not limited to everything that isn't sleeping, you have a motivation problem. Trouble is, especially as the days have been getting hotter, morning is a good time to engage in physical activity without having to bring more water than you can realistically carry on an aluminum-frame bike.

So I bring you the band, and two songs whose particular relevance I'll explain in a minute, that had me strongly considering a bit of extracurricular headbanging at 8:30 a.m. I shit you not. Thus is the magic of ACDC.

I'm also quite fond of You Shook Me All Night Long, and it'll serve the same purpose, but that song wasn't on my Bike Ride Playlist on the day in question. On said day, it was freaking early for me to be awake on a Saturday, but I had a few commitments later in the day and wanted to have time for a proper ride. How I got my ass out of bed and onto the bike without convincing myself that sleeping for another several hours would be just as fun is something of a mystery, but it definitely happened.

Trouble with all this was that getting onto the bike seemed to be the limit of my ability that morning. Even pushing the "shuffle songs" button to make sure my Bike Ride Playlist didn't just play songs in alphabetical order of artists proved a smidge too difficult. That meant my two ACDC songs came up first, and right after one another. Suddenly I had a bit more energy. I daresay I, a girl, got rhythm. Sure it was still early when the songs ended, but by then I'd been pedaling long enough to get my blood and my adrenaline pumping a bit. That's really all it takes.

So keep Girl's Got Rhythm and Highway to Hell in mind the next time you're on a ride when you'd rather not even be awake, and a happy Tuesday to one and all.

My Bike Has Accessories! (And you can too): The Cupholder

~Because I want to help those who, like me, responded to questions about what accessories I wanted to get for my bike with "Oh...right. What?" And because I always really liked show and tell in school.

Internet, meet my cupholder:

Low-tech but super-useful, thanks to a little ingenuity combined with the fact that Bike Pimp doesn't much clean out her garage. Yes, it is a cup with holes punched in it.

Why I wanted it: Why do you ever want a cupholder? Because there are drive-thru windows in the world - and while it turns out your average McDonald's worker doesn't really expect to see a bike at the window, they'll usually still serve you. Because sometimes you aren't done with your morning coffee when you go to work. And because sometimes you find a random cool wine glass at a garage sale and don't have any other way to carry it (true story, btw).

Intended use: Holding cups. I suppose that one seems fairly obvious this time around.

I've definitely needed to do this while biking before, especially biking in town. Plus one memorable time at a trailhead when the wind blew the cap to my water bottle right out of my hand and into some nearby evidence that a horse had taken a rather large dump earlier in the day.
The cool thing about this one is that it works! That probably shouldn't be so exciting, come to think of it, but it is. It doesn't seem like something you'd easily find at a bike shop, and if you did, you'd probably end up paying what I've come to consider the Pretentious Bike People Tax. So a little MacGyver-ing seemed worth a try. Much like anything on that show, you never quite expect it to work out very well (although in the case of my cupholder, I was less worried about leaking plutonium than spilling coffee). But in its plucky red plastic fashion, it succeeded despite appearances and in no way dumps coffee, diet coke, or anything else I choose to put there.
In fact, it doesn't tip over at all, so when it rained one time I had to wait three weeks for the little puddle that collected to just evaporate on its own.
There's probably some quip I could make, but I don't have the energy to think of it. Guess I need to go biking for some more coffee. Good thing I have me a cupholder to put it in.

Alternate uses: The fun thing about a cupholder is that it holds things that aren't cups. For example, my iPod and my phone. Funny how that works. It's pretty common for me to have my headphones in and this little cord appearing to tether my head to my cupholder because my iPod is in there.

Cost: If you happen to have a friend that has a large cup with a leather thong threaded through it lying around her garage, it's free. Or you could rig something up. I'm not saying everyone has to be cheap in the same way I am.
If you'd rather try the retail route, the cheapest bike cupholder I could find online was $8, but most of them were closer to $12, if not $20. The most expensive was $30, but it had a U-bolt base (whatever that is) and was "self-leveling." Yes, turns out you can make even a cupholder complicated if you put your mind to it.

Worth having? : Yes, though I wouldn't say it's worth spending $30 on.

If you've ever tried to take a drink and continue pedaling before, you've spilled on yourself and almost crashed before. Plus, for all they're handy, those little water bottle holsters (fyi, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to call them something else, though God knows what) are pretty impractical for oversized containers, containers with lids that don't screw on, or really anything but your most basic water bottle shape and size.

Ridin' Friday: The Paths Not Taken

My intent to explore the subdivisions and random branchings-off of the Highway 89 Pathway went from a vague, someday kind of plan to an actual concrete one when I ended up having to run into the office one Sunday afternoon. Some of us may or may not have forgotten to put our work in the appropriate computer folders Friday.

Once that was taken care of, I didn't have as much afternoon as I'd hoped for to get out with Little Red. Certainly not enough time to make it out to the Wilson Canyon trail, which I'd vaguely planned on when I got dressed for a bike ride that morning....or, you know, noon. So I remembered those areas I hadn't gotten to when I went out to Game Creek, and went ahead and had me a glass-half-full moment. (Although, I think that saying only works if you know what the glass is half-full of, but that's another story for another day).

So I headed back out to Highway 89 and had a surprisingly nice ride, considering there were many. many houses and many, many owners of those houses looking a little resentful that someone they didn't recognize was riding through their sacred haven of expensive. Both Rafter J and Melody Ranch have some unexpectedly great Teton views and nice little pockets of woods and creeks next to the pathway. Plus - I had me a biking triumph in my own kind of pathetic way on the way back to the pathway from Rafter J. There's a long-ish hill up from the Rafter J paths to the main one, and the first time I rode there, I had to stop and catch my breath partway up. This time, I won't say it was easy, but I didn't even have to slow my pace. Hooray! I'm getting stronger!

By far the most disappointing stretch was South Park Winter Range, at least in terms of bike riding.

I'd heard good buzz about a wildlife loop in that area that went around two ponds where trumpeter swans live, and figured a nice, not-too-rugged wilderness ride would be the perfect end to the day. However, as you can see in the picture, I got stopped by this nice big gate that kept everyone not on foot away from the loop. Signs - which you can't see in this picture - warned against disturbing the swans.  The sign itself was at least a year old, so one could assume the eggs mentioned on it were well-hatched by now. However, I am generally against people messing with wildlife just because they want to play in their habitat, so I decided to take a break and fool around by Flat Creek for a while.

It was getting steadily hotter, so the cool air by the creek was welcome. Plus, I am a firm proponent of how much fun it is to sit peacefully by the water. And of splashing other people in a fit of mischief, but since I didn't actually know anyone else there that day, I thought that should probably wait for another time. That's what being a grown-up is all about, amirite? Between one thing and another, I wandered along the creek for probably as long as it would have taken me to ride the wildlife loop and got in some very important throwing of rocks and sticks as I did so. Generally speaking, I think Flat Creek is one of my favorite things I didn't expect to find in Jackson. The town takes a lot of care to make sure there is public access to it and it's too small and shallow for the endless boating you can get on the Snake and Hoback Rivers.  Plus, did I mention how the Tetons are right nearby, like everywhere in town?

 Because they are, as you can see here to the right. So, in the essence of exploring, I ended up not minding so much that I didn't get to go where I planned because of what I found instead - a not-too-far, not-too-crowded place to play by the creek. However, I did have a moment of stupid on the way back. Not as severe as my trail fail from earlier in my mountain biking saga, but not one I care to repeat if I can help it. So if you'll recall, I mentioned it was getting hotter while I played by the creek. On the ride back as I grunted my way up the steep and very rocky road back to the main pathway, I realized I was really dehydrated after spending all that time in the sun. What's more, I hadn't brought anywhere near enough water for this game. I ran out at the top of the ascent from South Park and still had one or two signficant climbs to go. What's even more, as I rode along the pathway trying not to think about how freaking thirsty I was, I realized that I was also really, really hungry. Thinking back, I hadn't eaten anything since the few pieces of toast I grabbed for breakfast and that turned out to be not nearly enough fuel for an afternoon of biking. Then the mild headwind kicked up. Had I thought to maintain my energy properly, I don't think I would have noticed. In fact, I would have welcomed the breeze.

So I biked all the way back to town feeling like a Hummer on the interstate - hungry for more fuel, be it ever so inconvient, and increasingly crotchety about it. Please note, LRMB-ers, that biking may be low-impact, but it's a high-energy activity. All apologies to Robert Frost and his yellow woods, but I'm sure had he been biking, he would have made sure to include a warning to bring a snack along if you're going to be taking roads in woods like that. Turns out the path not taken is much easier to take if you've been smart enough to anticipate your own needs along the way.

Ride Preview: Just a Little Explorin'

On last week's pretty epic ride I passed several places where the path branched off into a series of subdivisions and wilderness areas. I knew their names, but had been into only one of them - Rafter J - because it's closest to town so I can get there in that after-work biking window.

Since I am, as previously noted, a Lewis-and-Clark-yapper-dog type explorer (ie: excitable,  excessively curious and kind of amusing to watch) I ended up telling myself rather sternly to just keep biking because I could come back later.

This was especially true when I saw that one of the turns took you down alongside Flat Creek - and just because I took this picture is no reason for you to just assume I went there. 

Of course, I did, but that's beside the point since this is just a preview.

In order to properly understand this little tour through the paths not taken, you do need to understand the way the part of South Highway 89 works just outside the actual town of Jackson. Since there is limited residential real estate in the town, a good chunk of the better-off local families live in one of several subdivisions outside town. North of town are the national parks and the National Elk Refuge, so much of this living is done south of town.

When you first move to Jackson Hole, the names of these subdivisions are mentioned as though everyone knows where they are, and you should too. Of course, they also have these super-aggressive homeowners' associations that refer to unauthorized visiting or amenity use as something with consequences you will not like. The one exception is the bike paths. Against all precedent, the bike paths that branch into these subdivisions are open to public users, possibly because Jackson Hole cyclists are second only to Jackson Hole dog owners in terms of force of numbers. Seriously, you want to get shit done here, link it to dog or bike access and you will have yourself an army.

Myself, I just wanted to see what the fuss was about. Also, from the main pathway, the subdivisions end up looking like these little havens of trees, creeks and ponds. All good reasons to be a rebel, if you ask me. 

My route: Russ Garaman Trail to Highway 89 Pathway through Rafter J, Melody Ranch and South Park Winter Range

Surface: Mostly pavement, although Melody Ranch's pathways turn to dirt and gravel in places and the South Park section is all dirt and gravel

Incline: All over the place,since all of the subdivisions, etc. are downhill from the main pathway - and therefore the return is uphill. Only the South Park return gets beyond the ordinary.

Distance: Probably around 8-10 miles. This is a total guess that may be wrong.

What you'll see: Nice-ass houses you can't afford, Flat Creek, Tetons, pretty little woodsy pockets

Biking to Booze: Assorted Shenanigans at Snake River Brewery

What's a girl to do when she has a brewpub located along an easy bike route through town? The eternal question asked yet again.

In my case, the answer tends to be: bike there a lot. Snake River Brewery makes some classic local beers, plus the staff tends to be super friendly and easygoing. A ton of local people stop by there too, so it's been a good place to meet fellow Jacksonians. I'll give you two examples of times I biked there to give you a feeling for what I mean.

Time 1 - Work Farewell Party

My co-workers are awesome, so when one of them - Ranger, for the sake of this blog, since he quit to join the Army Rangers - left us, we had to give him a sendoff complete with pizza and beer on the company account. The Brewpub (as it's generally known 'round these parts) is in many ways easier to bike to than to drive to because its parking lot is the approximate size of a postage stamp. With the long row of bike racks along the pub's fence, there are actually more places to park your bike than your car. It's also just a block away from Snow King Avenue, which has a nice, wide bike lane and not that much traffic.
So I opted to head to the festivities on Little Red since it was a pretty nice day.

Knocking back: We opted for a pitcher of Pako's IPA for the table. I gladly partook of said pitcher.

Bon appetit: The table had a mix of three pizzas. I mostly stuck with the margherita.

Verdict: Pako's has a nice bite to it and is really drinkable, although it tastes strong. That's probably because it is, at 6 percent alcohol. I tend to like medium-dark beers, and Pako's is closer to the dark end of what I like than the medium. With how strong it is, I never order this one unless I'm also getting food. I am nowhere near enough of a beer drinker or a beer snob to be able to describe it any further in terms such people would recognize, so we'll leave it at that.

As for the food...I am mildly in love with the Brewpub's margherita pizza. Not because it's super fancy or all that gourmet, but because it has everything I like and nothing I don't from a pizza. It's big enough to share, but small enough that you don't have to; it's got its grease, but not so much you need to use the whole napkin dispenser to soak up the excess; and it's a nice thin-crust, so it's not a very heavy meal. Plus I heart basil and tomato. Not gonna lie, when we got down to that last piece and I was still hungry, there was a little bit of a "my preciousssss" moment before I consented to let Ranger have it. Hey, he was moving away from the delicious pizza. I could afford to wait.

Time 2 - The NFL Draft

Yes, yes, the draft was a while ago. But I happen to live in a town that inexplicably prefers hockey to football, so there weren't many places in town with enough TVs that I could commandeer one for my football geekery during an important (apparently) hockey tournament. The Brewpub has many TVs, so I used my pull with my favorite bartender there to get what I wanted.
It was another nice day, and so I saw no reason to drive. Little Red and I headed to see who my team (Seattle Seahawks, yo!) would take from a pretty talented field of prospects.

Knocking back: I was on my own, so I went for my favorite Brewpub offering - Snake River Lager.

Bon appetit: I hadn't eaten dinner yet, so I went for a baked artichoke dip plate.

Verdict: There really was no bad here. I ordered two of my favorite things on the whole Brewpub menu. The Lager is milder than the Pako's in both taste and alcohol content, but strong enough to taste like a proper beer. It's not too strong, not too mild - the Baby Bear of the Brewpub in my opinion. For those of you who will have any idea what that means, it's a Vienna Lager, but since just as I am not a proper Bike Person, I am not a proper Beer Person, so I mostly remember that in case I need to give someone a basis for a recommendation.

And of course, to me, spinach and artichoke dip is like crack. The Brewpub's version comes with carrots, celery, little sourdough bread slices and pita chips, enough that I often can't finish it. But it's inevitable that I will like it and that I will order it a lot because, like I said, crack.

As for my team's choice...it didn't make a lot of sense to me. ESPN even gave us the dubious distinction of being on its top 5 worst first rounds list. But hey, if I gave up just because my team was disappointing, I'd never watch football. Anyway, nothing like a good bike ride home to take your mind off of wondering just what Pete Carroll (Seattle head coach, for football noobs) is thinking.

Tuesday Biking Jams: La Tortura

Hills are hard.

That statement, while simple, is also pretty unique in that it's one I've never heard a single cyclist disagree with. I've noticed as I learn to ride and get more and more biking stories that cyclists like to to talk about biking. And dear God they advocate, they campaign, they proselytize and they witness for their particular vision of it, as though they were lawyer-missionaries lobbying Congress. But just you mention a ride with some steep grades and the intensity of debate turns to sympathetic wincing.

So when I found a song on my playlist that turns out to help you set a great pedaling rhythm for getting up those extended steep climbs, I felt it was something that needed to be shared on the internet. So I hereby announce that this week's biking jam is La Tortura, Shakira's sexy screw-you to the ex who wants you back.

For the record, I don't understand why there is belly-dancing while covered in what looks like crude oil in this video, since it seems to have little to do with any of the lyrics - I found a version with English subtitles to check. It definitely has no bearing on the song's use as a biking jam.

The song came on my iPod near the end of a pretty long ride, and a good slog uphill in my next-to-lowest gear wasn't exactly my preferred to-do list. However, I'd chosen a path that started with some super-fun downhills, not necessarily connecting that with the evil uphills they became on the way back, so it had to be done. In one of my favorite coincidences, the beat of this song turned out to be just the right one to aim for as I tried to keep my momentum going up the hill. Plus, this song is just ridiculously catchy, so it took my mind off the climb at the same time. Wins all round!

Downside - pedaling to this song isn't anywhere near so much fun as dancing like a dork to it in your kitchen while wearing Hello Kitty slippers. You can trust me on that one, I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Welcome, New Bike Rack! or The Value of Judicious Bitching

It's been a tough couple weeks to be a Little Red Mountain Bike reader, amirite? Well, have no fear, I'm back and ready to keep you all entertained, following three weeks in which - my bike was in the shop after a trail fall, I pulled a quadricep during a soccer game and I was getting things ready for a college friend to visit me. Three weeks and three obstacles, a veritable trifecta of shit and fans meeting.

However, I hereby return to my posting with some great news - during all the yikes I acquired a bike rack for my car. The posts lamenting my long and unexpectedly fruitless search are through and the ones celebrating the new places I can explore via bike can begin.

 

Getting the rack was, as alluded to in the post title, something of a lesson in the value of judicious bitching. Because she periodically reads this blog and because I was maybe a leeeeetle vocal  about not finding a rack at the recent Bike Swap, Bike Pimp knew I was looking for one.

So one day during my accidental hiatus, I walked into my office to find the above-pictured rack sitting on my  chair. Next to it, Bike Pimp was grinning like one of those cartoon lemurs in Madagascar. Turns out, she bought a rack of her own from a friend of hers and said friend had a second rack she wanted to get rid of. So not only do I have a rack that fits my teeny-tiny car, but I didn't have to pay for it.

Now, getting the thing onto my car (ok, watching Bike Pimp get the thing onto my car) felt a little like getting my car ready to go skydiving, and the rack looks a little like a torture device without a bike on it. However, this is a common sight in Jackson. Everyone seems to own a bike and not use it during the work day, so cars zooming around with empty bike racks happen on a daily basis. Oddly, I find it far less weird now that I get to do it too. Yay, I look like I live here!

So many thanks to Bike Pimp for the new toy, and my apologies for abandoning you all for so long. But I'm back y'all, and ready to tackle what's left of an interesting June.

Ridin' Friday: Jackson to Game Creek and Trail Foray #2

The morning of my big planned ride, I actually tried to get up early. I've never been all that good on knowing how long something will take, and there was a bike sale in town I wanted to hit that afternoon.

Since at the time, there was a good possibility I was heading out to Hoback, which is 12 miles away, I brought water and a peanut butter sandwich and felt somewhat like a little kid packing lunch for a field trip. I also wore my brand spanking new helmet, which I made sure to buy after this little adventure.

The weather was perfect. Perfect! Clear skies, sunshine and just enough of a breeze to keep from drowning in sweat. I easily passed the Bird, and was off into the great unknown, such as it was.

The path hugs the highway itself pretty closely until the Melody Ranch subdivision, where it swoops down into the smaller hills and fields below. Farther on, you totally forget the highway is continuing its highway thing above you. Partly that's because the location of the path gives you this illusion that you're  cycling through an untouched paradise of green things and rolling hills and Teton views. However, it's also because you periodically end up with all your attention on getting yourself up the four or five random 8 percent grade inclines the path kind of sneaks in there.

If you're like me, you'll reach the first one after the scattering of smaller inclines and declines up to that point and you'll see the sign the thoughtful trail builders posted that warns you that you're coming up on a hill. As you get closer and start to ascend, you'll notice more details on the sign. Like where it says more specifically there's an 8 percent grade ahead. Your inner voice will be all "wait, what did that say? Shit." I've found as I get further into this whole biking thing that approaching long steep uphills gives me much the same feeling as that moment I realize I've just used my last clean fork and can no longer pretend the dishes in the sink will keep a while longer.

Luckily, much like my dishes, I can pull off the climbs, I just have to get through the internal whining. I am also a big believer in the power of a little judicious whimpering to get you through the tough times.

I also had the consolation of getting these grudging respect nods even from the spandex-clad snots as they'd pass me going the other way. Kind of a general acknowledgment that you're both doing something worth doing.

Where the path itself ends at Game Creek, you cross the highway and can can either head down the former highway, which is the beginning of the route to Hoback, or you can continue down Game Creek Road. After all this pavement, I was kind of craving another crack at a trail, and the Game Creek Trail is famous locally as part of one of the best mountain biking loops in the area. So I decided to leave the Hoback trip for another day - you'll almost certainly be reading about it later in the summer.

Game Creek Road is a gravel road that gradually climbs from the highway until it suddenly shoots upward in a steep-ass hill just past the Game Creek trailhead. As you bike it, you see something along these lines:

 

 By the time I got to the trailhead, I was feeling a little dehydrated, so I paused for a drink before venturing onto my second ever trail ride. The good news is it lasted considerably longer than seven minutes, the length of my first. It was a beautiful trail, although it was still muddy in places from melting snow. It just turns out there are things you plain don't think about when you're hiking a trail that suddenly become super important when you're biking it. 

Like rocks. Given that a not-especially-large rock had nearly killed me the previous weekend, I had a healthy respect for all things sedimentary, metamorphic and igneous (thank you, Magic School Bus). By the end of the ride, it was less respect than a kind of sullen resentment.

This is a perfect example of what I mean. Hiking by that patch of rock, you'd scarcely notice. Biking, you feel every single contour of the ground. Rocks like that make for a bumpy-ass ride, and if you aren't careful, your tires actually bounce sideways off of them with no warning. When you're trying to avoid a patch of slippery mud, or a ditch off to one side, that's damn inconvenient and kind of scary. I was sort of getting the hang of the stance I needed a few miles down the trail, when I realized the second major hurdle of trail riding: you use a lot more effort to gain a lot less momentum, so your legs hate you triple what they would if you rode the same contours on pavement. In short, I was getting a little fatigued and I knew I had a bunch of steep climbs to make on the way back to town. 

So I took a quick break to assess how much my legs were hating me and decided I probably should turn back. Nothing wrong with knowing your limits, and you look a lot dumber when you fuck something up by pushing yourself too hard than by acknowledging what you can't do. 

  On the way back, I wished a zillion times I'd brought more water with me because the sun was a lot higher and hotter by then. I also thanked the Lord I'd thought to bring my sandwich, because about halfway back I was starving and pulled over to scarf down the food I'd brought. The cool thing? For the first time in a long time, I had no question at all that I'd earned every last calorie, and I didn't have to face that gerbil on a wheel feeling a treadmill gives me to do it. Plus, the view was way better.

I'm definitely also going back to the Game Creek Trail this summer, although I may consider driving there once I get a car rack so I don't have to factor in those 8 percent grades before and after. What can I say - I honestly died a little when I had to turn my back on that last bend, although this picture is a little earlier in the trail.