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More geeking out in the woods? Duh. This time around it is some total bikecamping switcheroo shakedown cruise. I all kinda swapped this and that on the Ogre for this upcoming/extended tour of. I wanted to see how it all shaped up. But you know what happens when you shake out your system, right?

All the bugs are exposed to the light.

 After a last minute light bracket positioning (latest in the on-going series of freakouts) I rolled over to meet Mr. P. Funny (to me) story: as I was touring down the bike path to get there, I passed some BMX hoodlums at the intersection, and they soon came upon me from behind. I heard them squawking about how no way was I (loaded homeless man in their eyes, I am certain) staying ahead of them. Of course that kind of blatant bike pathalete raceism cannot stand, and I gave chase. Full tweaker hobo-mode. They were silly looking as they furiously worked their dinky cranks and then stood over on one pedal to look back.  They seen me chasing and repeat repeat repeat, because it is hard work to maintain any speed on your 20" jibby bike. I took 1)the dirt parallel and 2)the win and D)them to school. I hope they learnt the lesson. It is always racing.

 My shitty set-up was shitty. 1st the 2 6L water bags barely fit in the frame bag. I wanted the water in there, because we are having to carry lots, and water is a hard load to roll. It is always sloshing and rebounding. It throws it's weight around. Hence, the wanting it in the center of mass, you see. No dice. My frame bag is specced for the Surly Pugsley, and I always thought I was real clever for getting that one and just using it on whatever bike- but surprise! I am not clever, and apparently the spec matters because the wide-assed BB of the fat bike allows for some corresponding wide-assedness in the bag, which coupled with a regular BB width will shit the bed if stuffed. On account of pedal striking with a vengenace. OK, OK, I'm real adaptable. Pull out one bag and strap it on top of the rear rack, and put the (non-compactable) coffee press in the bottom to keep the bag from flaring, and put the other water sac on top. Again, no dice; the water just slipped down and bulged the coffee press over and it was kick the clinky press every revolution. My brain knew it was not the BB, but it felt like a BB issue and it was maddening. Plus, it would quickly wear a hole in the frame bag. Gah! I cursed.

And, switching a new chain & cassette? Dang! I'm so proactive! Dope! Now it was old chainring interface problem having time. This is no way to Party. I stopped on the outskirts to drink beer and reflect on how badly things were going. Look:


 

So, yeah. With the hella refined routine, you might think we knew what was up. Liqour store, taqueria, woods. My favorite quote from the underwear clad Mr. P?

"It's perfect. Nobody needs to check my work." Yes. Why do I even bother with this "testing". My ish is so dialed. I've done this enough that my system is exactly correct for all time. Other worthies? Um..."how bad could it get?", "what's the worst that can happen?", and "hold my beer and watch this."

Since 1957! All of Cside(!) thinks we are just another couple of transient losers.

There is the wiggling gypsy wagon. Not even close to the actual load it must tote. Shimmy shimmy shake. Sad face.

I am avoiding calling you back because I know you know taking the fat bike is a bad idea and you want to talk me down from the ledge. I am aware of all the "road" sections and I am aware of how poorly the girthy tyres roll that stuff, but _ick is taking a fecking cargo-bike! Slowness is universal? And the fat tyres stabilise the load so well...

I am now engaged in the 2nd round of increasingly panicked shakedowns.

Extreme Safety!

You gotta be more than a butt that's booming.

After "sleeping" on my double coach platform (yes, I even pulled out the sleeping bag) I eventually washed up in Grand Junction at 10:10AM.

 

 My bike was extensively disassembled, so I puttered about on the platform for quite a while, putting the bike together and listening to the Amtrak employee tell me stuff about Freedom and the dangers of heat exposure in the backcountry.

 By 11, I was no disassembled and ready to hit it. My 1st stop was the nearby bike shop for a Latitude40 topo map of GJ and Fruita. After some lunch at Main St Bagels I rolled West on 340, heading for Fruita. I had filled only my 3 36oz water bottles and 1 100oz bladder, thinking to save weight/effort. When I reached Over The Edge Sports (the shop to patronize in Fruita) I axed those guys for pointers and filled all 4 100oz bladders. It was nice to meet you, Greg. It's still a new experience for me to meet the live humans behind computer screens.

 By the time I reached Mary's Loop, gateway to the Kokopelli, it was hot.

 Hott.

 Hottt.

 At a certain point along Mary's it was no longer fun. I skipped Steve's. Hottt, loaded heavy and tired is no way to flirt with the edge. At a later point, on Troy Built, it became hateful. Usually, I can keep a sense of humor whilst suffering. I went well past that point. I began to hate. I hated myself for committing to such a stupid plan, and more for not being smarter about it (like I'd "planned") by riding in the cooler hours. I hated Troy Rarik for putting such rotten lines in his loop. I hated you.

Truly, it is rare that I cannot laugh about how bad things get. I knew the jig might be up. I sweat a lot, and my electrolyte balance was out the window. Whose idea was heading from my constantly cool coastal kingdom up to 4,000' of 98* in the shade? What a jackass.

I stopped in the good shady wash, pulled out my pad, and napped for an hour or so. This was an attempt to bring my core temperature down. I was beginning to feel nauseous, and that's an early warning for heat exhaustion.  I poured some over myself several times, but my water was all too warm to help much. It felt hot, not refreshing.

When no more napping was to be had, I got back at it. I immediately felt just as ill as before. I wanted to reach Rabbit Valley as close to 4pm as I could for reasons of my own, so I pushed instead of staying there in the shade as I should have done. I should have waited for cool.

 That above is the cut-off down to Salt Creek to reach the Kokopelli as it branches from the Mary's/Lion's Loop. It is a bitch.


I dropped down and crossed the creek. I wet my socks, bandana, and hat. I was very bitter about any "unnecessary" elevation gain. I could see climbing up that fin was gratuitous, but I knew no other route. After following the train tracks for a bit, the trail turned up. I got off. I began to push. It suuuucked. I settled into a routine of pushing the laden bike an arm's length away and climbing up to it. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. On the (frequent) occasions that a (surprisingly small) rock stopped my wheel, I felt like crying. It was a total emotional breakdown. I have never felt so broken.


I reached Rabbit Valley, and my camp site, as the sun dropped below the horizon. I was surprised to have cell reception. I texted several folks with my dejection- I was cramping and sad. I knew I should sleep on it, but I felt like abandoning. It would have been easy to hitch to Moab as that campground is only a mile at most from I70. Eventually, I rallied and got up from my prone position on the table top to  heat water and make tea and dinner. Then I slept.

Your words of power are as follows:

I can't show you mine, but you can show you yours.



The waxing gibbous moon. Solo night time riding. Backlit as if it were a prison break, what with the arcing search lights and the rushing...I'm telling you.

Those of you who live in snow covered areas- you are blowing it if you are not out in this stuff. Reflective surface like that? Get it together, maaaaaaaan!


I am saddened to say that the end of Mudhen Express is bulldozed like no other. I found this out in the dark last night after climbing 50 from Barloy (which is itself "maintenanced" by being flattened into 7" deep sandy powder) and aiming it straight up the run out to hump it up to the cliff-NOPE. Met the several tiered swath of bulldozed destruction.

Ruined. Full stop.

The Caprock Bar is intact (some small good news), but the dozer operator left his 3 pronged scrawl pointing to it, as if mocking or warning or both. Like the Devil's own signature. It's getting rough out there. Lots of Joy getting the blade. I couldn't see everything on account of it was dark and I was somewhat sideways, but the trail proper has so far escaped the grinding, and it looks like they are concentrating the destruction elsewhere. I fear this is the beginning of a road though.



Saw my spirit animal, the Western Screech Owl, up close and personal. Quiet is kept. Listened to 3 separate strings of yodel dogs singing to one another along the ridge West of the Caprock Bar, while I paused for a refresher. Breathed deeply of the ozone smelling fresh air that sometimes shows up and is welcomed when it does. Pedaled circles without stopping.

I apologize for my own swath of destruction. Punishing myself on the fixed cross bike leaves me achy and spent.