Tolt Gravel Grinder

Saturday was supposed to be a mellow, recovery kind of ride day. Frankly I had no special reason to recover, last week activities included three days of bike commute to work (24 miles total) and two 6 mile hilly runs. But the Friday afternoon run in 85F heat left me quite dehydrated and I did not feel replenished despite couple of beers on the way home after work at Peddler Brewery, where you can  ride your bike right up to the taps.
























I picked the Tolt Pipeline trail as my Saturday ride, first reason being my (wrong) assumption that it would be quite flat, and secondly, I started to miss riding my 29er hardtail on dirt. Just before leaving, I glanced at one blog describing the ride and noticed that the author had some navigation challenges and had to walk one steep incline. I quickly dismissed such nonsense and drove to a P&R just south of Woodinville on 405. It is not the western most end of the trail, that would be located another mile or so west, but this was a convenient ride start location.

Looking west - seems hilly that way.

 I quickly found the trail, it is hard to miss, the clearing must be 100ft wide, you can see the scar on Google satellite maps. The surface is gravel of varying sizes and it is a hardpack at places, other sections are quite loose.

The initial section started almost flat, then dropped steeply to Sammamish river valley. Before the downhill, there was a nice view of the Cascades, looking over my shoulder, I could see the panorama of Olympic Mountains.

 Just after crossing the Sammamish river, I hit the first brutal climb. I managed to stay seated and made it to the top, but had to grind my teeth. From now on, the roller coaster trail would require getting speed on the downhill sections, timing the shifts right and trying to use as much momentum on the uphills.

 Yep, there is the pipe - it brings water from Lake Tolt in the Cascades to Seattle, where about 30% of us drink it (the other 70% Seattleites drink only beer and use water for occasional showering).

 Another super steep drop, this time to Snoqualmie River (much bigger than Sammamish). By now, I feel pretty fried, it is in mid eighties again and the sun has been sizzling my skin since the ride start, this being a wide clearing with little shade. It is a hazy day, but looking south, there is the mirage of Mt. Rainier, quite impossible to capture on digital film with apparently not enough levels of white. There was a veil of clouds at the top, couple of lenticularis "lenses" above the volcano and a big rotor cloud to the east - all signalling weather change, a big cool down is expected tomorrow.

 I crossed the Snoqualmie Valley trail, which goes another 30 miles south-east, over the Snoqualmie summit and eventually connects to the Iron Horse trail, on which one could go all the way to Idaho. I tell myself to turn around at mile 15 on my computer, but the scenery is pretty and I feel that I must be nearing the end of the trail. Surely, at mile 16.8, I can see the trail end below.

 I decide that the experience of seeing the trail dead end at a road is enough from this vantage point, without necessarily touching it with my tires another 250 vertical feet below. This is as close to the snow as I will get today.
A quick bar and I started the return leg thinking, well, I have been more or less climbing toward the mountains, so it should be net downhill coming back. Wrong! I really did not remember riding so many downhill sections, where did all the the climbs come from? At mile 22 I completely lost my legs, my speed drops from 14mph to 8, then 5. Sweat pours down the back of my neck and down my arms into the gloves. The liquid in my Camelbak is warm and disgusting. But somehow, on those few downhill sections, I recovered a bit, slurped one gel before the final brutal climb out of the Sammamish river valley and made it back.

The GPS track is here, 3,333 ft of climbing, I did hit 40mph on one of the whoopsies, and my wheels were not rolling for less than 5 minutes of the whole 3:12hr ride. I hope it rains tomorrow.

The Eastern Side of the Hill

I believe I grabbed the last reservation slot for the season opener ride by the Evergreen Mountain Bike Alliance. The ride took place on Saturday at the Joe Watt Canyon near Thorp, WA. The weather being sunny for what seems now like a forever, and temperatures climbing towards high eighties over the weekend, I was ready for the long (2 hrs) drive to the eastern side of the Cascades. I was curious for multiple reasons: I have not been east of Snoqualmie since we moved to Seattle, I wanted to meet EMBA riders, who do an awesome job in servicing the mountain biking community here by maintaining the best Trails wiki page, organizing group rides, maintaining trails and building new ones, and of course, tons of biking advocacy.

The trail head was just off I-90 on a high plateau, the views were so different - open space, big sky, wind mills and snow capped mountains.

 A group of ten riders gathered at the parking lot and off we were, anxious to hit the technical trails. This of course resulted in the fast group, who did not know where we were going, getting lost soon, but Bob the ride leader soon herded his sheep and yelled clear route signals at us all. He camped in the area the night before, went to preride the trails and even removed bunch of obstacles (!).

Many of the trails seemed like freshly cut, sometimes the super narrow ribbon of singletrack disappeared and we free-rode over roots, rocks, grass and loose volcanic soil. The sun baked the backs of our necks, but the 3000 ft elevation and a nice breeze made the hot day very enjoyable. There was a strong pine and sage (I think) smell in the air, which reminded me strongly of John's and mine tour through Southern California almost exactly a year ago.

 We had lunch on a green meadow next to an old cattle corral and a clear creek before some more grueling climbing on fire roads. Most of the soil was very dry and lose, littered with fist to head sized rocks, which made the climbs really strenuous and the downhills sketchy (for my ability). The final downhill was a blast and when I looked over my shoulder at the bottom of the descent to see what's on the picture below, I almost endoed in a rain rut Bob warned us about.

Back at home, with my bike, myself (including corners of my eyes and nostrils) full of dust, I looked at the GPS track and realized that we rode "only" 11 miles, my legs felt fried more than after Kokopelli Day 3. Was it worth driving 2x 100 miles for this ride? Absolutely! Bunch more photos by Anthony Cree are here, now we only need a map, as Igor pointed out.

Kokopelli Trail: Day 4

Guest post by John Puziss.

After a frigidly cold night, I awoke to find frost coating the inside of my tent.  Temps over the past few days never got above the mid 50’s, and with snow and rain on and off yesterday at our campsite 8500’ up in the La Sals, I was beginning to wonder what happened to the sunny desert biking vacation I had been dreaming of since December.  Fortunately, today would bring a welcome change, a perfect bluebird day on some of the best trails in the US. 

After wolfing down a breakfast of bagels and sweetened chai tea (great suggestion, Jan!), we broke camp, geared up, said goodbye to Rob (who was taking the road into Moab to meet his friend “The Doctor” and headed out for the day’s ride, our last on the Kokopelli Trail.  We started off with a screaming descent for 5 miles on pavement, hitting speeds up to 46mph and losing about 2000’ in the process.  Wow, this is easy!  Then we hit the brakes and turned onto La Sal Mountain Loop Rd.  Uh oh, now we reverse the process: 5 miles and 2000 vertical feet of climbing.  I pedaled about a 1/4 mile, quickly began panting and overheating, so I stopped to ditch a layer and smear on some sunscreen.  Finally, a day warm and sunny enough to ride in just a jersey!  

 Back in the saddle, I quickly settled into a climbing rhythm.  Head down, breathe, turn the crank, repeat.  And repeat. And repeat.   Doug’s words echoed through my head: “I got a great view of my top tube”.  So I forced myself to lift my head and look around.   Wow… stunning alpine scenery rolled by me, with expansive views off to my right of the Moab valley and Fisher Towers miles away and several thousand feet below.

 I looked ahead and saw the other riders in our group spread out before me.  Despite the altitude, I felt surprisingly strong… or maybe not so surprisingly, since I had taken a rest day yesterday.  The road peeled by underneath me as I breathed, pedaled, took in the views, and gradually reeled in the riders in front of me.  Finally, after over half an hour of climbing near the redline, we crested a saddle and coasted through a long flat stretch.  Near the top?  No such luck… still about 700’ of climbing to go.  Gasp.  I used the reprieve to rest and gather my strength for the final push.   Back on the incline… breathe, pedal, head down, shift gears, breathe, pedal.  I looked up as we entered a grove of aspens.  Only Jan and Nathan, a very strong rider from SoCal, were ahead of me.  And then only Jan.  And then no one… huh? That rest day was definitely feeling like a good decision!  An hour after the start of the climb we reached a long flat stretch, and then a sign on the right pointed to the continuation of the Kokopelli trail.  I got off the bike to wait for Doug and Jan, throwing on a shell and taking in the jaw-dropping views. 

The three of us wolfed down some snacks, snapped some pics, and set off again… sloooowly.   The mud for the first half-mile of jeep road was thick, sticky, and nearly impassable.  Mud flew from our tires as if sprayed from a hose.  Jan and I waited for Doug to clear the mud off his bike, and then we rode onto the next section of trail- UPS (Upper Porcupine Singletrack).  Now the real fun started! 

The trail unfolded, sandy singletrack winding through juniper and Ponderosa Pine, connecting challenging sections of slickrock.   I flew along the trail, grinning like a maniac, powering up short ledges, teetering around tight switchbacks, puckering up as I rolled down incredibly steep ramps of sandstone, where all I could do was brake, throw my butt behind the saddle, and hope for the best.  

Another break to take in the scenery and down a few energy bars, then onto LPS (Lower Porcupine Singletrack).  The trail emerged before us, a writhing snake of singletrack and slickrock, now undulating through a desert ecosystem as we dropped in elevation.  Some sections of trail brought us to within mere feet of the edge of the mesa, a cliff with hundreds (thousands?) of feet of air below.  Don't look, just focus on the trail!   After a few miles of this, we came to the start of Porcupine Rim proper. 

After a brief lunch break, we motored along the jeep road that makes up the first half of Porcupine Rim.  The speed through here was almost unbelievable.  Despite the bone-jarring terrain of broken rocky ledges that went on for miles, the elevation kept dropping and we flew along, bouncing over jagged rocks, shooting over ledges, and carving through corners.  After jack-hammering down this trail, we emerged onto the Porcupine Rim singletrack, near the bottom of the mesa. 

I had ridden this years before, but for some reason had blotted it out of my memory.  Now I remembered why- Holy Crap, this trail had some wicked exposure!  I hiked-a-bike for short stretches at least a half dozen times as the trail presented some technical obstacles a few feet from the edge of a precipice, where any mistakes could be very costly.   The trail continued to descend, a sandy ribbon through a crazy Dr. Seuss landscape of towers, mounds, and creamsicle colors.  And then, we were on the road, a few short miles from Moab, a cold IPA, some hot nachos, and the end of an incredible journey.  Day 4 GPS track here.

Kokopelli Trail: Day 3

Guest post by Doug Taylor:

Photo by John P.

I awoke with leg cramps, exhaustion and my mind racing with how to justify not riding what was described as the hardest day of the tour: a long climb, a descent back into the valley floor, all finished off with another 3500 foot climb to the snow-covered La Sal Mountains. My training for the Kokopelli Trail had consisted of two dozen 1-2 hour rides on flat roads of the eastern piedmont of North Carolina, plus four one-hour mountain bike rides. In short, I was totally unprepared for the Kokopelli, let alone Day 3 on the heels of Days 1 and 2. My last ibuprofen pill, a cup of coffee and Jan egging me on by saying pain is all in the mind convinced me to get on the saddle and pedal: slowly - painfully slowly - embarrassingly slowly.  Within an hour I was off the bike and pushing up a section of jeep road, the only consolation being that I really wasn’t falling that far behind those using bikes in their official capacity. 

Top of the World. Photo by Doug Taylor

A nasty hike a bike....(photo by Doug)

.....followed by even nastier downhill hike a bike through the Rose Garden (hiker Jan, photo by Doug)

A cold drizzle and snow flurries on the first long uphill section, and corresponding (irrational?) fear of hypothermia only added to the sense of ‘what the heck am I doing’. But I had a smile plastered on my face during the lone, long downhill double-track section which seemingly went for miles; the only near disaster being an endo which almost dropped me face-first into a prickly pear cactus. 

After reaching the valley floor and riding a few miles of flat jeep roads (which still felt like going uphill thanks to an inch of powdered sandstone) we began what was a near continuous three-hour climb up and around mesas and into the mountains. The views were simply spectacular, although my legs did not much care about the views. The final few miles were spent climbing a steep muddy road in sleet and snow, looking in vain for bits of packed tire tracks to offer reprieve from the Velcro-like mud.  Slogging into camp I quickly set up my tent in light snow and hail, egged on my riding partners to cook dinner for me and went to bed at 7:30PM, happy that I was able to finish but also grateful it was over.

Day 2 of the Kokopelli Trail

Guest post by RV Taylor

We awake early on top of a butte the sun rising near the La Sal mountains which are over 50 miles
distant, across the Colorado River. Ice coats the inside and outside of the tent fly. It’s cold! Eager to get an early start we wolf down bagels and hot but weak coffee. Shouldn’t percolators be relegated to the trash heap by now? Gear is packed up with not too much ado and we’re on our way. The road down the butte is like a slickrock staircase; pretty jarring for hardtail and full suspension bike alike. Mark, the only solo biker in the group joins our group today. Once we’re down on the desert plain the road flattens out and turns more sandy.

Power lines create excellent perches for red-tailed hawks and American kestrels. New spring wildflowers are sparse but provide welcome splashes of yellow, red and purple in this otherwise brown landscape. This is less exciting than yesterday’s trail but a welcome reprieve that allows us a chance to let our weary legs regain their composure. We’re heading west-southwest, the sun is out and we warm up quickly. We also hope that it’s firming up some of the mud that the recent storms created. After a few hours we turn towards mesas, slickrock outcrops and start climbing.
Up and over the rocky rims we descend a steep and rocky road to the river’s bank. Recently arrived
swallows circle the air above the muddy water (that’s why they call it the Colorado which means “red” apparently). Across the river we spot a golden eagle circling the opposite bank. After a break Jan wields his mighty whip again and we’re off.

Not too long after we reach highway 128. I decide to take the highway which will save me about 10 miles. Joining me are Kathleen and Chris from Iowa. Meanwhile Jan, John, and Doug decide to take the Yellowjacket trail – a decidedly more arduous itinerary which will put the days mileage at around 50.

The highway is an easy cruise to the Dewey Bridge which takes us to the other side of the Colorado. I remember on one of my trips to the area parking near the bridge one evening, walking out on the old bridge with my sleeping bag and sleeping there above the river. Since an arsonist set fire to it a few years back this is no longer possible, unfortunately. It’s still pretty early in the afternoon and we pedal up a steep jeep road a few miles to where Nick has set up our camp. Relieved to have made it through day 2, I have a little time to relax below the sheer sandstone cliff that towers above us and wait for the others to roll in.

Kokopelli Trail: Day 1

Many virtual and paper pages have been filled with descriptions of both mountain bike touring and racing on the famous Kokopelli trail. I will thus spare everybody a boring turn by turn description of our first day of the tour, which started at the Loma trailhead and finished at the Bitter Creek mesa campground. An excellent guide to this route can be found here.

I will rather try to make some observations on how our first day on the trail went, sort of from an amateur sports psychology point of view. This is admittedly a very subjective point of view, because it stems from my own past experiences and reflects my own expectations about the ride. On a chilly morning, thirteen of us, equipped with the latest mountain bike technology, gear (detailed maps, gps navigation, cell phones), enough food and water, extra layers, tools, spare tubes, etc., were dropped off at the trailhead and started pedaling onto the technical Fruita trail system.

Photo by John Puziss

As I expected, all riders took of before you could say "front derailleur", our group of four being the last to go. I knew this ride was not a race, but I have to say, long mountain bike stage races provide one important factor: organization and discipline. If the stage starts at 8AM, nobody wants to be at the start line at 8:15, even if you are not that competitive or aim at placing at the top. Having bunch of riders behind you is also better than being at the tail, in case of mechanicals or such.

A touristy group ride should be casual, with time to chat, take photos, refuel and check directions. Yet the daily distance and the challenging terrain dictates that you keep focused on the goal: to get to the finish as soon as you can with as little energy wasted as possible. This focus is something I look forward to every time I go for a bike ride. The moment I get to the saddle and start pedaling, I try to block out all factors that are not related to my ride and which I think are distractions. I know that there will be lots of distractions and a growing discomfort as I get tired and hungry, but I focus on pacing myself, sensing my body, feeling the terrain under the tires and constantly rationing my strength, water and fuel. This mode actually puts me in a calm state and I usually don't think about what could possibly go wrong.

Photo by John Puziss

 During the first miles and several hours, our group could not reach a rhythm, a flow. There was lots of stopping for many reasons, to pee, to grab a bar (even the otherwise well written guide linked above suggests eating one energy bar every hour!), remove a layer, add a layer, check how much water is left in the Camelbak, text the last photo home, etc etc etc. First, I just could not understand what prevented us from just keeping to move forward, except the few hike a bike spots. Then, I started to realize that this must be a new and perhaps somewhat overwhelming feeling for my friends. Riding for couple of hours on your favorite trails is something most of us do often, but being out there with long distance to the camp on unknown trails could be intimidating. So I think that in situations like these, when the only sensible thing is to suck it all up and just keep spinning the pedals, our minds start to play dirty tricks. Anything but pushing the pedals feels more comfortable and so our brains, trained by so many days of our everyday lives to maintain the comfort homeostasis, push all the red alarm buttons and try to make us stop.

All in all, it was a hard day with plenty of technical riding and bike pushing up rocky slopes, with the bonus steep climb to the camp site. On this climb, no matter how much I wanted to tell myself "it is all in your head" and pacified myself with sucking on a sugary gel pack, I got off the bike and walked.

 The Garmin track is here. Total time 2 seconds short of 8 hours. Time actually moving, 4:02:50. See what I mean? In a race, we would not make the cutoff. On a vacation ride, we reached the campsite safely, in late afternoon hours, with enough time to set up camp and cook, but with four extra hours of wasted energy (since we all burn calories even when we are not moving) which would surely be needed somewhere over the remaining 120 miles of Kokopelli.

Kokopelli Trail: Pre-ride Stuff

To ride the Kokopelli trails from Fruita, CO to Moab, UT in April had been my friend's John idea and it had been planned over the winter months of February and March. John invited two of his college buddies and we decided to use the services of Hermosa Tours even before they were featured in the Dirt Rag magazine.
The planning and preparation phase included several areas: first and foremost, Rob nailed the food part by creating a shared menu and shopping list. Each day had detailed menu for breakfast as well as post ride appetizers, followed by the main course and concluding with deserts. Once this was taken care of, we could pay attention to the lower priority items: training, transport to the ride start, and of course, the bikes.
For myself, the "training" phase was reduced to convincing myself that I had lots of base left from the last year (I did manage to convince myself about it and quickly dismissed any ideas about actually testing the base by riding). Two days before leaving for Colorado, I rode a very nice loop on paved paths and gravel trails around Seattle and decided that 1600ft vertical over 65 miles was a clear proof that I would be OK climbing 4000-7000ft a day on the Kokopelli trail.

Getting to Fruita, CO was just a routine: get up at 3:30AM to catch a 6AM flight, watch the sun rise over the Cascades as we climbed out of Seattle area...

...land in Denver in the middle of a snow blizzard, wait for John's delayed flight, rent a Subie, hit I-70 and get stuck for hours on the freeway in heavy snow.

 

But the decor of this fancy restaurant clearly indicated that we were approaching a bicycling friendly area.

Nevertheless, after 15 hours of travel (it was a 2:30 hrs flight from Seattle), we were finally in Fruita.

Next came the question of bike: pack and fly my Mojo there or rent a bike in Fruita? I eventually decided to rent a Rocky Mountains Element 970 29-er, BC Edition from OTE Sports.

This beautiful carbon bike has been reviewed extensively online, so I would just skip four days ahead and add a few observations: it was very light, felt very tall and nervous when trying to climb in a straight line, did not feel efficient at all climbing in the granny chain ring, but changed its personality hugely into a very capable trailbike when descending technical trails, especially with the Reverb dropper seat post lowered. And I kept clipping my pedals on rocks more than any other bike I have ridden, as several reviewers pointed out.

John and Doug chose the beefier Santa Cruz Superlight 29ers in bright orange colors, making sure we would not be shot at by the local hunters.
 

 

John and Landon setting up the Superlight 29

 Rob brought his version of trail weapon, proving that full suspension, carbon frames, straight handlebars, narrow saddles and heavy Camelbaks were all but unnecessary.

 

So the only minor task that was left was to actually ride the 150 miles of Kokopelli trails over the next four days, camp, cook the elaborate meals, enjoy the scenery, meet new people and have a good time during a supported luxury mountain bike tour!