Some Deeds are Worth the Punishment
This post really isn't about riding, just an example of how I often spend a weekend in my attempts to get in a ride.
Sunday I decided it would be a good idea to go to Crested Butte and map one of the last trails needed from there for MappedTrials.com. It also helped that I haven't had a real job for about three years now, and needed to get this done before I become homeless...and autoless.
Anyway, I packed and headed on my trip at about 1:30 in the afternoon. When you don't have a boss you can do that. I was about 45 minutes into my trip to Crested Butte when it stared raining and hailing. It was really getting ugly out there. However, knowing the mountains the way I do, I realized that just because it was raining on the east side of the Collegiate Peaks, doesn't mean it would be on the west.
I kept driving along HWY 24 until I passed some poor kid carrying a cloth sleeping bag, and a duffle. He wasn't exactly the camping type, but since it was so bad out I decided that I would pick him up, and give him a ride to the next town. I was planning on going through Buena Vista anyway, and he would be able to hang out at the gas station there. I wouldn't normally recommend picking people up on the highway, but when the weather's that bad, and it's lightening, I like to make sure no one is going to die because I'm too much of a jerk to pick them up. Besides...I might be that guy soon, and I need the good karma.
After telling me he was heading to Cortez through Gunnison, I decided it would be a good idea just to drive him all the way to Gunni. I had intended to head to Crested Butte via Cottonwood Pass, but driving over Monarch Pass to Gunni wasn't that much slower, and this guy really seemed like he needed the help. He was only about 18 years old, and looked like he had seen some hard times. He smelled like he had at least spent some of his time sleeping in a dumpster.
So me and my passenger headed to Gunnison. I drove, and he told me his life story. It's all about the company, I say. I'm 25 years his senior, and was learning something about life through this young man. He had seen a lot of life in his short years, prison, abuse, good times, bad times, shot, stabbed, abandoned, and rehab. He told me story after story, through fits of coughing. He wasn't doing too well, but his color seemed fine, so I didn't worry too much. Besides, the truck was a lot dryer than the street. Also, it was interesting listening to him. I felt a kinship with the kid. He was starting a new life in Cortez, and I was more than glad to help him out. You should help out when you can.
It took about three hours to get to Gunnison. The weather on Monarch Pass was miserable, and driving conditions were poor. When we finally got there, I dropped him off, and gave him enough cash to get to Cortez. I NEVER lend money to anyone. It is a rule of mine. I will give it on occasion, and this was one of them. He could at least give someone cash for gas. I'm sure he had money in his pocket, but a little more wouldn't hurt.
With that adventure out of the way, I intended to drive onto Taylor Canyon and camp for the evening. It was around 5 p.m. by now, and the clouds were clearing a little. Still, I figured since my plan was to ride Teocolli Ridge, I would camp off the trail behind Mt. Crested Butte instead.
I drove and caught the road through Crested Butte Estates behind the mountain, taking the left fork, where the road turns into a Jeep trail. I kept driving, going slowly when I ran across loads of cattle on the road. It doesn't pay to have a cow get upset and bump into your truck you know.
It wasn't long before I got down near Brush Creek, and set up camp for the night. It was apparent that the night before, or sometime during the day, much of the cattle had grazed near my camping spot. They left a lot of semi-digested piles of grass around for me to navigate while I was making dinner. Luckily, it was cold, so the flies were nowhere to be found.
It started getting dark, and I decided to crawl into the back of the truck and bed down for the night. It was pitch black out, with occasional lightening strikes as clouds were rolling in from the west for an evening storm. I knew it would be cold in the morning, ensuring the the trail would be frozen enough to ride, rather than a muddy wash.
The evening was uneventful, except for several cows made it near my camping spot, and decided to have a heated discussion, about the taste of the grass or something. They were rather active and loud. One of them decided to lean against the truck, which in my half sleeping state at 1 a.m. made me think someone was trying to get in. I woke up with a start, and crawled out of the back of the truck with a flashlight. This startled a few of the younger calfs, and the whole crew scampered off away from the camp site.
The next morning I was awakened by hunters on four wheelers heading out to get the morning's deer. I had forgotten my orange vest. Also, it was around 24 degrees, according to my trusty camping thermometer. It was WAY too cold to be out riding, and since I didn't get much sleep, I decided that I would wait for warmer temps.
I headed into Gunnison for some breakfast around 6 a.m. The diner opens around 7, and I would be right on time. Crested Butte doesn't get moving until around noon. They have a different set of rules when it comes to time there. Gunnison is a little better, in that they have other industry besides skiing, and well...skiing.
I drove into town, and with every mile felt worse and worse. My bones were aching, I figured from my night of sleeping in the back of a truck. Also, it was very cold, with ice on the ground, and it was starting to snow when I left the camp site. I figured it would go away soon.
I was wrong though...it progressively got worse. Also, I started coughing, and not feeling very well. I was coming down with something, and figured it must be what that kid had, whom I had given a ride the night before. Afterall, it was a closed in truck, and he had coughed a lot on the way.
Around 8 a.m. I decided that if I was going to ride, I needed to just head up, and ride. Things weren't going to get much better. I drove back to CB, and when I got to the turnoff, decided that 28 degrees was still way too cold to ride, when all I brought were three layers of jerseys, and no tights. So I decided that making it a road trip, viewing aspen leaves on the way to Carbondale over Kebbler Pass would be fun.
Kebbler was awsome. The leaves were changing, and the colors standing off against the snow flurries, was kind of cool. However, I was feeling more, and more poorly as the day wore on. I had to take Indpendence Pass to get back to the eastern slope, and it was raining in Aspen when I left. That meant that it would be snowing on the pass. I was right too. There was a blizzard at the top, and had it not been for the fact that I followed a snow plow most of the way, I would most likely still be there.
As I came down the mountain, I began coughing, and sneezing, my knuckles starting to ache. I'm old, and it was cold, so I figured, hey...no big deal, I will be fine. I drove the next two hours for home, and when I got here, I found that I couldn't get out of the truck. My legs just decided that they would quit working. Well...they worked, but it hurt for them to work.
I almost crawled from the garage into the house, in pain the while way. I couln't wait to get into warm tub of water.
I had left the house for what was supposed to be a great day of riding, to being a good Samaritan, helping out my fellow man, to feeling like all my joints were going to explode, all in a 24 hour period. I have no doubt I caught whatever it was from my passanger. Still, I was thankful I had a place to go to. I couldn't imagine feeling this bad, and living on the road.
I can map the trail later. Right now, I'm going to sleep, and have some whisky and honey.
Happy Riding
Rex Nipper
Sunday I decided it would be a good idea to go to Crested Butte and map one of the last trails needed from there for MappedTrials.com. It also helped that I haven't had a real job for about three years now, and needed to get this done before I become homeless...and autoless.
Anyway, I packed and headed on my trip at about 1:30 in the afternoon. When you don't have a boss you can do that. I was about 45 minutes into my trip to Crested Butte when it stared raining and hailing. It was really getting ugly out there. However, knowing the mountains the way I do, I realized that just because it was raining on the east side of the Collegiate Peaks, doesn't mean it would be on the west.
I kept driving along HWY 24 until I passed some poor kid carrying a cloth sleeping bag, and a duffle. He wasn't exactly the camping type, but since it was so bad out I decided that I would pick him up, and give him a ride to the next town. I was planning on going through Buena Vista anyway, and he would be able to hang out at the gas station there. I wouldn't normally recommend picking people up on the highway, but when the weather's that bad, and it's lightening, I like to make sure no one is going to die because I'm too much of a jerk to pick them up. Besides...I might be that guy soon, and I need the good karma.
After telling me he was heading to Cortez through Gunnison, I decided it would be a good idea just to drive him all the way to Gunni. I had intended to head to Crested Butte via Cottonwood Pass, but driving over Monarch Pass to Gunni wasn't that much slower, and this guy really seemed like he needed the help. He was only about 18 years old, and looked like he had seen some hard times. He smelled like he had at least spent some of his time sleeping in a dumpster.
So me and my passenger headed to Gunnison. I drove, and he told me his life story. It's all about the company, I say. I'm 25 years his senior, and was learning something about life through this young man. He had seen a lot of life in his short years, prison, abuse, good times, bad times, shot, stabbed, abandoned, and rehab. He told me story after story, through fits of coughing. He wasn't doing too well, but his color seemed fine, so I didn't worry too much. Besides, the truck was a lot dryer than the street. Also, it was interesting listening to him. I felt a kinship with the kid. He was starting a new life in Cortez, and I was more than glad to help him out. You should help out when you can.
It took about three hours to get to Gunnison. The weather on Monarch Pass was miserable, and driving conditions were poor. When we finally got there, I dropped him off, and gave him enough cash to get to Cortez. I NEVER lend money to anyone. It is a rule of mine. I will give it on occasion, and this was one of them. He could at least give someone cash for gas. I'm sure he had money in his pocket, but a little more wouldn't hurt.
With that adventure out of the way, I intended to drive onto Taylor Canyon and camp for the evening. It was around 5 p.m. by now, and the clouds were clearing a little. Still, I figured since my plan was to ride Teocolli Ridge, I would camp off the trail behind Mt. Crested Butte instead.
I drove and caught the road through Crested Butte Estates behind the mountain, taking the left fork, where the road turns into a Jeep trail. I kept driving, going slowly when I ran across loads of cattle on the road. It doesn't pay to have a cow get upset and bump into your truck you know.
It wasn't long before I got down near Brush Creek, and set up camp for the night. It was apparent that the night before, or sometime during the day, much of the cattle had grazed near my camping spot. They left a lot of semi-digested piles of grass around for me to navigate while I was making dinner. Luckily, it was cold, so the flies were nowhere to be found.
It started getting dark, and I decided to crawl into the back of the truck and bed down for the night. It was pitch black out, with occasional lightening strikes as clouds were rolling in from the west for an evening storm. I knew it would be cold in the morning, ensuring the the trail would be frozen enough to ride, rather than a muddy wash.
The evening was uneventful, except for several cows made it near my camping spot, and decided to have a heated discussion, about the taste of the grass or something. They were rather active and loud. One of them decided to lean against the truck, which in my half sleeping state at 1 a.m. made me think someone was trying to get in. I woke up with a start, and crawled out of the back of the truck with a flashlight. This startled a few of the younger calfs, and the whole crew scampered off away from the camp site.
The next morning I was awakened by hunters on four wheelers heading out to get the morning's deer. I had forgotten my orange vest. Also, it was around 24 degrees, according to my trusty camping thermometer. It was WAY too cold to be out riding, and since I didn't get much sleep, I decided that I would wait for warmer temps.
I headed into Gunnison for some breakfast around 6 a.m. The diner opens around 7, and I would be right on time. Crested Butte doesn't get moving until around noon. They have a different set of rules when it comes to time there. Gunnison is a little better, in that they have other industry besides skiing, and well...skiing.
I drove into town, and with every mile felt worse and worse. My bones were aching, I figured from my night of sleeping in the back of a truck. Also, it was very cold, with ice on the ground, and it was starting to snow when I left the camp site. I figured it would go away soon.
I was wrong though...it progressively got worse. Also, I started coughing, and not feeling very well. I was coming down with something, and figured it must be what that kid had, whom I had given a ride the night before. Afterall, it was a closed in truck, and he had coughed a lot on the way.
Around 8 a.m. I decided that if I was going to ride, I needed to just head up, and ride. Things weren't going to get much better. I drove back to CB, and when I got to the turnoff, decided that 28 degrees was still way too cold to ride, when all I brought were three layers of jerseys, and no tights. So I decided that making it a road trip, viewing aspen leaves on the way to Carbondale over Kebbler Pass would be fun.
Kebbler was awsome. The leaves were changing, and the colors standing off against the snow flurries, was kind of cool. However, I was feeling more, and more poorly as the day wore on. I had to take Indpendence Pass to get back to the eastern slope, and it was raining in Aspen when I left. That meant that it would be snowing on the pass. I was right too. There was a blizzard at the top, and had it not been for the fact that I followed a snow plow most of the way, I would most likely still be there.
As I came down the mountain, I began coughing, and sneezing, my knuckles starting to ache. I'm old, and it was cold, so I figured, hey...no big deal, I will be fine. I drove the next two hours for home, and when I got here, I found that I couldn't get out of the truck. My legs just decided that they would quit working. Well...they worked, but it hurt for them to work.
I almost crawled from the garage into the house, in pain the while way. I couln't wait to get into warm tub of water.
I had left the house for what was supposed to be a great day of riding, to being a good Samaritan, helping out my fellow man, to feeling like all my joints were going to explode, all in a 24 hour period. I have no doubt I caught whatever it was from my passanger. Still, I was thankful I had a place to go to. I couldn't imagine feeling this bad, and living on the road.
I can map the trail later. Right now, I'm going to sleep, and have some whisky and honey.
Happy Riding
Rex Nipper
posted by Sir RexALot at
11:34 AM
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