Colorado 2006 - Johnny Two-Wheels

In early 2006, my good friend and St. Louis riding buddy Matt Sellers mentioned the possibility of a Colorado dirt biking trip in the summer. At the time, I considered myself a racer, not a casual trail rider. If I was going to pack up the bike and ride anywhere, it would be to a race where I could throw down my proverbial hammer and go flat-out fast. I had spent years slowly rising up the ranks and had finally solidified a spot in the "A" class for old guys. I had no time for prancing down a trail, searching for photo-ops.

Matt was well aware of this and had already hatched a plan. An International Six Days Enduro (ISDE) qualifying race was to be held near Walsenburg, Colorado the second weekend in July. He suggested we race the 2-day event, then drive to the Taylor Park area and hit the trails for a few days. Matt sweetened the deal by offering his truck for the drive out. His proposal was a good one and I agreed.

We departed Wentzville, Missouri on July 6th, but not before changing our plan to haul our bikes and gear entirely in Matt's full-sized pickup truck. We had, quite simply, too much stuff. Matt solved the problem by backing up to his 5x8 trailer, hooking on, and loading both bikes. We filled the truck bed with our mountain of gear and checked out of Wentzville, trailer in tow.

Our destination was Colorado Springs, where Matt's brother Brad had offered his house to stay the night. Brad and his family were out of town, but he gave Matt the code to the garage door and let us know where to find the beer. We expected to arrive around suppertime.

The trailer idea seemed legit at the time, but literally blew up on us a few miles east of Hays, Kansas. Interstate 70, an intensely uninteresting road until Denver, suddenly became loud with the sound of a trailer tire shredding itself at 75 mph. We pulled over to survey the damage. "Where's the spare?" I asked. "What spare?" Matt replied. The surviving 16-year-old tire could not be expected to last much longer, so the decision was made to replace both of them. But where?

John, to the rescue.

In a stroke of coincidence, I knew the town of Hays well. In my St. Louis days, I had a customer based near the hamlet of Long Island, 85 miles north. To get there, I would board a flight to Kansas City and then transfer to a commuter plane to Hays. The turboprop flight to Hays included a stop in the metropolis of Great Bend, always to drop off one passenger (never two) or pick up one passenger (never two). From there, I would rent a car and drive to Long Island. These trips often included an overnight in Hays. Near the intersection of I-70 and U.S. 183 was a Walmart Supercenter, complete with tire services.

Hays was about 3 miles ahead. Matt drove slowly on the shoulder, thumping trailer tire behind us. At Walmart, Matt was informed the tire center would not perform work on trailers. If we'd like, we could remove the wheels ourselves and carry them to the shop, where they would be changed out with new tires, but the trailer itself had to remain in the parking lot. The service center was kind enough to let us borrow a jack and a lug nut wrench. The old tires came off, new ones were mounted, and two hours later we were back on our way to Colorado Springs.

The tire setback cost us time, but we weren't especially hurried in our trip to Colorado Springs. We arrived at Brad's house in the early evening and entered the garage by way of the door code. Mission accomplished. One problem, though...the inside door to the house was locked. Matt called his brother to locate the key, which, alas, could not be found.

We might have set our sleeping bags on the garage floor and slept the night next to a lawn mower and a weed whacker, but Matt, a/k/a MacGyver, really wanted a beer. He sifted through his wallet, pulled out a Hustler's Club loyalty card and began working on the lock. Five minutes later, we were in. We drove to a nearby restaurant for dinner, threw our sleeping bags on the living room floor and slept through the night.

The road to Colorado Springs, as expected, was nearly as flat as Illinois. When we arrived at Walsenburg, I discovered the town was not close to mountains, or even trees for that matter. To be honest, I'd not even looked at a map to see where the town was located. Matt was my navigator and I trusted him to find the town and the race site. But I'd imagined the event would be held somewhere in the vicinity of forests and hills. Why else hold an enduro in Colorado?

The race site, about 20 miles outside of town, was flat as a board. Small trees and scrub brush were visible in the distance, but everywhere else was grass clipped short by cattle and a brownish tint to everything. It was complete and utter range country. I drove 1,154 miles...for this?

We pulled into the staging area and signed up for the races on Saturday and Sunday. The ISDE format required motorcycles to be impounded the night before the event. Once a bike was turned over to the fenced-in impound area, it couldn't be removed until the morning of the race. This was important, because Matt and I first needed to set up carburetor jetting for the 6,000-foot altitude. While testing the settings, I was relieved to find at least some resemblance of off-road riding terrain further away from the staging area. Still, it wasn't impressive.

With jetting complete, we left the staging area for a KOA campground outside of Walsenburg. The Leivan family of Missouri chose the same spot to camp for the duration of the ISDE qualifier. Steve Leivan, multi-time Missouri Hare Scrambles overall champion, was attempting to qualify as a club rider, representing the United States later that year at the ISDE in New Zealand. We set up our tents and slept well under clear skies and pleasant temperatures.

The ISDE qualifier format is unlike any other type of racing in the U.S. ISDE-style events involve a series of special tests, each timed to the second. Arriving at each test requires navigation through many miles of trails, some more difficult than others. The Walsenburg event would have a long loop with two special tests in each loop. Riders would complete three laps each day, resulting in 12 timed tests over the weekend.

Around 9:15 I retrieved my KTM 300MXC from impound and pushed it to the starting line. Unlike most enduros, this starting line was on a raised platform. Per ISDE rules, engines could only be started at the rider's scheduled starting time, which for me was 9:29 a.m. From there, we had one minute to travel 30 meters under the power of the motorcycle's engine. I was a bit concerned with the starting process, given yesterday's 30-kick workout to make the engine run. But no such problems would repeat this morning, and my race began without incident.

After a brief minute on the trail, my eyes were fixated on the most beautiful sight: A huge canyon carved into the rangeland, around 100 feet deep and 300 yards wide. The main canyon extended several miles, with smaller canyons fingering out from the large channel. None of this was visible from our vantage point in the staging area. Finally, I understood why the event was held here.

The enduro course, around 23 miles from start to finish, wound its way in and out of the canyon, sometimes running on top along the edge or down into its lowest points. Inside the depths of the large canyon, the trail was routed on both sides, occasionally rising up to ground level and the dropping back down to the substrata.

Riders were given 55 minutes to reach the first test section, referred to as the "terrain" test. In typical qualifier fashion, one test would focus on more traditional woods terrain and the other would be laid out as a grass track in a large pasture. Having no idea what to expect of the trails leading to the terrain test, I raced through the canyons towards the terrain test. I arrived with 20 minutes to spare.

The terrain test was rocky and filled with scrubby cedar trees. On this first test, the trail would be in its best condition, then slowly degrade into a choppy, rutted and whooped out mess. Conditions were dry, but as I would learn from my time in Colorado, afternoon showers would usually come in fiercely and depart quickly, with just enough precipitation to keep the dust in check.

My times in the terrain tests weren't stellar. Had I entered the event as a Letter of Intent rider, with hopes of actually qualifying for New Zealand, I would not have been in any danger of making the cut. Matt and I both entered as "regulars", meaning we were riding for the fun of it, more or less. And fun it was. The entry and exit points of the canyon were sometimes sketchy, as we climbed or descended steep, rocky trails. One of the climbs out of the canyon was a rock garden with a ledge near the top, reserved only for the "A" riders. On my first pass, many riders were hung up in rocks in various positions along the climb. So many were stranded that the actual trail was difficult to follow. I took an alternate route and received a tug from a strong young man perched along the rock climb, giving me just enough momentum to clear the ledge at the top.

After the terrain test, I continued on to the grass track at the end of the loop. We had been warned at the rider's meeting to watch out for cactus, of all things, and I could see why. Cactus grew all along the canyon, some the smallish type I would only get close to in a crash, and others which grew tall enough to reach my arms. All these years, I thought cactus only grew in the desert.

The route and time schedule again left me with a long wait for my first trip around the grass track. The Spanish Peaks club, our host for the race, would adjust time schedules on Sunday to shorten the waiting. Today, I had plenty of time to contemplate my inadequate grass track skills. I tended to blame this on my lack of access to practice tracks, but in reality I just didn't enjoy this kind of riding. Riding in grass, versus woods, is much like the difference between road bicycling and mountain biking. Both are a good workout, but trails are more fun. Thus, I tended to avoid grass tracks and, naturally, sucked at racing them.

At the Walsenburg grass track, I floundered through corners, riding wide when I should have gone inside and braking too early or too late. Berms had yet to develop in this first pass, making every turn a struggle for grip. The track included an opportunity to shave a few seconds by taking an alternate path leading to a large flatbed trailer, angled upward in a tilted position for loading vehicles. The trailer was a makeshift motocross-style jump, and a huge one at that. I couldn't imagine landing the bike on a jump that high with my cushy-soft suspension. The fast guys were sailing probably 10 feet high in the air and landing on flat ground. With three more days of riding ahead of me, I said no thanks and took the longer, flatter route around the trailer.

The loop was repeated twice more, leaving me with 6 recorded times for the day. All were below average compared to others in my class. I was ok with that, though. The terrain was amazing and a joy to ride. Throughout the rest of the day, I made no major mistakes and tried to save my bike and myself for what was yet to come.

Matt was already back at the truck after having problems with flat tires. We packed up for the campground and relaxed for the evening. We were happy to see familiar faces at the qualifier. Along with the Leivan family, Missouri riders Zach Bryant and Lars Valin had made the trip, as well as Illinois riders Jay Hall and Dan Janus.

Early in the morning, while I slept in my Walmart tent, I discovered a rookie camping mistake. I'd laid down a tarp under the tent, as an extra barrier between the thin tent material and any sharp objects on the ground. Like an idiot, I let the tarp protrude slightly outside of the tent's footprint. When a rain storm rolled in, the tarp collected all the water streaming down the sides of the tent. I awoke to the sound and feel of a waterbed, then realized the water was collecting on the inside of the tent. I grabbed a flashlight and gathered my wet phone and Blackberry and fixed my tarp mistake. The rest of the night was mostly sleepless.

Back at the race site, the starting times had been moved up one hour and the time allowed to reach the special tests had been reduced by 10 minutes. This produced less waiting at the tests, which was fine by me. The terrain test was rough, the grass track was full of berms at each turn, and the difficult rock climb had been thrown out for all but the Pro class and the LOI riders. The shortened course offset the condensed time schedule and I waited just as long at the grass track test as the day before. I was fine with this at first. My body was feeling the affects of two straight days of racing, something I'd never done before.

The morning came and went quickly, uneventfully and safely. In the afternoon, while waiting for my sixth and final pass through the grass track, the usual Colorado afternoon thunderstorm rolled in. First came darkness, then lightning, then thunder. Then came Matt, his day already finished, with an offer to take my fanny pack. It wouldn't be needed anymore and the three fewer pounds of ballast would surely help my time (it wouldn't, actually). With riders ahead of me, each waiting for the scorekeeper's go-ahead to enter the track, a crack of lightning shot to the ground nearby. I felt the sting of the shock in my left hand. I wanted into that track and out of it as soon as humanly possible.

The final test may not have been my quickest, but it was my last. I was glad to be finished with the bike looking nearly spotless. As for me, I pulled a few cactus needles from my arm, thanks to a lazy turn in the terrain test, but I was otherwise fine...tired, and ready for our next adventure at Taylor Park.

One more night at the campground and we were ready for the 3.5 hour drive to the Taylor Park reservoir. This was a high mountain climb over the continental divide and a steep descent to the most remote Rocky Mountain outpost I'd ever seen. Cell phones? Useless. Blackberry? Forget about it. Taylor Park consisted of a lodge, one restaurant, one gas station, and a host of rental cabins.

Matt and I requested a tent camping site, to which the friendly rental office manager responded with a blank stare. "You want...a tent site?" he replied. Of course we did, right up to the point we didn't. That point came when we stepped out of the truck and into a rocky mess next to the signpost for our site. The Taylor Park Trading Post had sold us a rock quarry, identical to all the other tent sites. We politely asked for our money back and drove up the road to Dinner Station Campground.

Now mid-afternoon, we had some time to kill and decided to do a short trail ride. We suited up for a couple hours of exploring the nearby Doctor Park motorcycle trail. This was Missouri-like terrain, with bigger elevations. The trails seemed to climb forever, then descend, then rise again. Many sections were cut into the sides of the mountains, leaving a wall of rock and dirt on one side of the motorcycle and a steep drop-off on the other side.

We came back to Dinner Station before dark and contemplated our situation. The campground had no showers. We'd brought no wood to make a fire. Food was several miles down the road and the temperature was falling fast. I'd packed clothes for July weather...in Chicago. Dinner Station was 9,600 feet above sea level. It's not warm there. I packed only one light jacket and a couple pairs of jeans. We saw firewood for sale at the campground manager's trailer and warmed up by the firepit.

My tent, the cheapest one I could find at Walmart in 1994, was a summer tent. Dinner Station's version of summer was 60s in the afternoon and 30s at night. My sleeping bag was the same one my parents gave to me in 1983 when I went to summer camp. It too was made for summer, of course. When the campfire burned itself out, Matt and I retreated to our tents and bundled up.

Yes, they do. And the forest service spends considerable time and manpower maintaining the trails for our use. That effort was evident immediately in our first full day of riding in the Taylor Park area. Little known to me, this was where the serious dirt bikers and ATV riders came to focus on one thing: Trails. The only things we had to do were buy a Colorado off-road vehicle sticker and put a spark arrestor on our motorcycles.

In the morning, Matt and I spread out trail maps and set a course for our day. I let Matt handle all of the navigating duties, as he was an exceptional map reader and I was not. Our goal was to see a handful of scenic places, such as Flag Mountain, and do that with minimal use of roads or ATV trails. With a general outline set for our day, we hopped on our bikes and hit the trails.

Generous rainfall made for muddy trails, although it's a matter of perspective. With so much rock, most trails were completely ridable. Our first trail was a repeat of the previous day, but instead of turning around when we reached the end of Doctor Park trail, we continued on into more glorious singletrack.

Highlights of the day included the difficult Star Trail, the 12,723-foot summit of American Flag Mountain, and the Hunter Hill trail above the tree line. We even managed to find ourselves stuck in the mud on Cement Creek Trail.

After a long day on the trails, we retired to Dinner Creek, bought more firewood, and huddled up for another cold night.

I don't recall the last time I was so cold. Temperatures at Dinner Station dipped into the high 30s overnight and I couldn't warm up. Matt started the engine of his pickup truck, turned up the heat and we basked in its warmth. I almost didn't want to exit the truck, but then remembered Matt wanted to ride the Timberline trail today.

Timberline was billed as the toughest trail around, 26 miles point-to-point. The route was laid out along a ridge near the eastern part of the Taylor Park area. The trail followed the timberline, more or less, for most of its distance. We were told this trail would wear us out so much that we'd likely be done for the day, should we complete the full route.

We explored our way toward the old Pieplant Mill, a long-abandoned mining operation. Pieplant was one of many turn-of-the-century mines scattered throughout the Taylor Park area. The north side of Timberline was in the general vicinity of Pieplant, so we began our trailhead search in that area. After a few false starts, we located Timberline and began our long journey.

The reports about Timberline were mostly accurate, but we'd missed one crucial detail: For best results, the trail should be ridden from south to north. Matt and I quickly found out why. The first few miles were a difficult climb to -- what else? -- the timberline. Our bikes showed signs of overheating and we were physically exhausted in the thin air. Once we arrived at the higher points, the trail leveled out and the riding was easier. Still, this was a seriously rocky trail, most of it built off-camber into the side of the mountain. In certain places, a mistake could cost dearly. Above the tree line, nothing would stop a sliding motorcycle (or rider) until it reached tree level. By then, it would probably be too late.

We struggled onward toward the south, determined to finish the trail and take a long rest. Several miles from the end, Cottonwood Pass Road cut across the trail and we decided to call it. Taylor Park reservoir was just visible a few short miles below. We pointed our motorcycles down the gravel road, explored some of the wider trails along the way, and turned towards the Trading Post.

Our Colorado trail riding was over and done. We camped one more frigid night, or part of it at least, until we couldn't stand the 34-degree temperature any longer. In darkness, we packed our things and loaded the bikes and left Dinner Station around 4:00 a.m.

I was simply amazed with the experience and could ridden entirely at Taylor Park the whole week. Had I understood the quality of the trails and the vast expanse of the trail network, I would have skipped the ISDE qualifier and spent all my time here. I vowed to come back, and often.

Our early start to Wentzville had us on schedule to arrive before dark. As we departed Taylor Park by way of Cottonwood Pass Road, the gravel which was so ungodly rough three days ago was miraculously smooth and graded. The darkness was at total odds with the natural beauty we'd been blessed with during the drive down the pass on Monday. Maybe it was better that way. I would miss this place.

At sunrise, the mountains had faded into our rearview. We crossed over Cottonwood Pass, then cruised down the paved portion of the road to Buena Vista. Along the way my Blackberry updated itself after three full days without a signal. Nothing reinforces the reality of a finished vacation like 307 new emails.

Back in the flatlands, the 34-degree campground was a distant memory when Matt's truck thermometer read 104 in Kansas, seven hours later. I would spend another night at Matt's place, then drive home to Chicago on Friday. I could not have imagined a more stark contrast between concrete and steel and mountains, had I vacationed anywhere else in July 2006.

Thank you Matt, for introducing me to Colorado trail riding.

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July 2006

discovering off-road paradise

Thursday, July 6th

The road to colorado springs

trailer troubles

Sixteen-year-old tires and 75 mph interstate highways

Walmart to the rescue

Tire repaired

Ready to roll again

Bored in Kansas

Bikes still there

Friday, July 7th

Walsenburg flatlands

Walsenburg

Our view at the staging area

Matt testing his jetting

Impound area

Saturday, July 8th

qualifier day one

Day One highlights

July 8, 2006

Rider's meeting

Starting line

Canyon view

Trailer jump

Not me in the photo, but this was my approach to the trailer jump - take the longer, wider alternative route.

Matt repairing tubes after Day One

Sunday, July 9th

qualifier day two

Monday, July 10th

Taylor Park

dinner station campground

it was summer, technically.

Most mornings we woke up to this .

View from Dinner Station Campground.

Mine's on the left. In 1994, $25 was a lot of money.

Did I mention there's rocks in Colorado?

Tuesday, July 11th

they let people ride dirt bikes here?

Taylor park, Colorado

2002 ktm 300MXC

above the trees

flag mountain

we found mud!

Wednesday, July 12th

timberline trail

Thursday, July 13th

back to wentzville, back to chicago