Last week Ben mentioned he was heading to Brianhead for the holiday weekend and asked if I wanted to come.  It actually seemed like he was just being courteous, or possibly bragging about the fact that he was going on a cool road trip.  I wasn’t sure how my wife would feel about a dude trip over a holiday weekend and I told him I’d think about it, but not to hold my spot.  The next day he pressed me for an answer and I said I’d talk to my wife and let him know that night.  My wife was actually pretty easy to convince and I was in.

I would come to realize that this road trip was a little more than a few sweaty dudes living on beef jerky and energy drinks.  This was the Team Sanchez Reunion trip.  Team Sanchez, is one part mountain bike club, one part biker gang.  It all began in St. George where Ben and his cohorts began riding and building stunts and trails in the desert.  With an emphasis on big bikes, and big stunts.  They built things with names like The T-bag, The Cocaine Jump, AMA(Against Medical Advice?), and The High Dive.

This pilgrimmage to Brianhead became a right of passage in the group.  One of the founding fathers and Dixie Chapter president Tyler Twiggs has a family cabin at Brianhead.  And by family cabin, I mean luxury estate with ten bedrooms,  a half  dozen or so bathrooms,ski-in/out access in the winter, three fireplaces, theater room, three car garage, and unencumbered view of the ski-resort.

The Dixie crew is only an hour or so away, but since Ben moved to Utah County the reunions have become a little more important.  As evidenced by the outpouring of man-on-man affection that occurred as each one of the Sanchez Crew would arrive.  With each firm handshake evolving into the still-hetero, one arm hug and firm back-slap.

ZenMasterKenny also scored an invite, and we had been told to bring two things, a towel to save having to wash the linens before we left, and “whatever body-armor you have”.  Which for me consisted of my XC helmet.   As the initiated showed up, they unloaded huge duffle bags with shin guards, knee pads, chest protectors, full-face helmets, goggles,and neck braces.  For some reason, even at this point I wasn’t overly concerned.  Although I have been aware that there was some supposedly great riding at Brianhead, I didn’t really know what it consisted of.  But how tough could it be?  Even the Sanchez boys kept referring to the trails as cross-country style riding.

Friday night, we all stashed our bags and then loaded the bikes up and headed for the summit to ride the “old” Dark Hollow Trail.  So far there were nine of us.

The calm before the storm.

On the ride up to the summit, discussions regarding bike weight  involved being back over 45 pounds after mounting the new tires.  Overwhelmingly the weapon of choice for Team Sanchez is the Turner Highline .  Most with dual-ply, 2.7 or bigger tires.  Hammerschmidts, gravity-droppers, and bash guards also seemed to be required hardware.  The first and only climb of the ride was from the parking lot, a half-mile or so to the fork.  Though not particularly steep, or long, at over 10K ft of elevation, we were all panting pretty good by the time we regrouped at the first fork.  So far so good.

This must be where they invented the term "panoramic"

Then it happened, the front of the pack disappeared down the narrow rocky chutes in a cloud of dust and I tried to jump on as best as I could.  This was steep, rocky, loose, exposed, sketchy trail.  The type of riding that requires twice as much upper body strength than it does leg strength.  I was officially intimidated.  The grade of the trails had us off the barren summit and well below the timber-line in minutes.  At the first regrouping, Ben would point out that “..this is what I meant by being balls-deep in the forest by this evening.”

Damn, forgot my neck brace.

Whether it’s a lack of traffic, or the ravages of the bark-beetle, the trail was littered with huge deadfall and forearm sized logs that constantly forced split second decisions on whether to ride over, or around them.    All the while bracing yourself for the next off-camber 2-3 foot drop followed by a washed out ninety degree turn.  Soon we were below the pines  and into the aspens.

Twiggs shows us how it's done on a root-strewn steep drop.

One of only a few smooth sections.

The trail continued on like this until finally spilling out onto a dirt road and another regroup.  Having survived the onslaught, I was now faced with trying to keep up on a 35+mph descent of a fire road.  Each corner had big, sweeping berms to keep it interesting.  As much fun as you can have on a dirt road, and a fun way to end the ride and the day.

Back at the cabin, the creature comforts just kept getting better, with the lack of restaurant choices in the area, the guys take turns providing meals, and this is no Top Ramen affair.  A huge pot of spaghetti, with Ben’s wife’s “pink” sauce, texas toast, and brownies.  Both nights ended much the same, with too much food, a good recounting of the day’s events, and a stoke session in the theater room.

Well fed.

Saturday,  a few more guys showed up, and our biggest group was eleven strong for the ride down Hendrickson Lake, the same starting and ending point, just a different route down.  Although the trail was slightly less violent, the final switchbacks were butt-off-the-back steep with hairpin switchback and the rocks you knocked loose rolling past you on the hill.

Over the top towards Hendrickson

The logistics of shuttling eleven bikes and bodies was thankfully all figured out long before we got there.  And other than a few bumpy rides in the back of the truck it went swimmingly.

We did the math. $35K hanging out of this $40K truck

Either the bikes were holding me up, or I was holding up the bikes. Standing room only at 50 mph

The most cross-country ride of the day was Bunker Creek.  Although some of the body armor crowd abandoned us for the lifts, There was a definite scenery advantage to the trail.  With a total of maybe one mile of climbing, it was a good break from the fear factor style riding we had been doing.

Railing the turns in the ghost forest above Bunker Creek

A little climbing gives you a chance to catch the views.

Sanchez and Co.

Tired and dusty, we rolled into the Burger Barn at Panguitch Lake, where the Twigg-mobile was waiting once again to haul us back to a lack-luster mexican lunch and then to the cabin for a rest and a little bike wrenching.

The bike scale confirms a 20 pound difference between the lightest bike and the heaviest.

The final ride Saturday was Blowhard.  It was also the most involved shuttle.  The first waves of deserters had begun to leave and it was down to seven for this one.  Starting at the weather station we made our way across a meadow and what I can only assume is not the “official” start of the trail.  It starts out steep and gets steeper, following a powerline down the ridge.  A brake smoking, loose, sandy trail that seems like you need a top-rope to navigate.  The bonus is the cheap seats view of Cedar Breaks National Monument.

Courtney Love-Hewitt

Purty

Is it just Courtney, or is that an incredible rock?

Soon we were flying down more technical, fast, tight, singletrack.  Other than the huge shuttle distance to the canyon above Cedar City, this was the trail I enjoyed the most.  Filtering down from the mountain into a narrow canyon gouged into a cliff that most people probably aren’t even aware of as they drive by.

Another carb-loaded dinner, and farewells to a few more guys, another bike movie before bed and it was our last day.  An early start had the final six of us loading up and locking the door behind us.  Troy was headed home via the scenic route on his dual-sport and Twiggs and Ben volunteered to run one last shuttle for Kenny, Courtney, and me.  I have to admit to feeling like a moocher the whole weekend.  Treated like an honored guest, and given preferential treatment all weekend has me indebted to the all the Sanchez guys.  Our last trail was the “new” Dark Hollow Trail.  I don’t know why they couldn’t have just named it something else, but whatever.  It was a mix of everything we had ridden.   A little faster than Old Dark Hollow, a little rougher than Hendricksen Lake.  Kind of a greatest hits version of the weekend.

There is a brotherhood among these guys that a lot of people don’t ever get to have.  A broad range of socio-economical status, age, fitness, skills, religious views, etc.  Congratulations to Pasta Ben for being “patched” and becoming the newest member of the Brothers Sanchez.  I am officially submitting my application for Probationary status for the Northern Chapter.  Being “Jumped-In” might kill me though.

Hands down, the funnest road trip I’ve ever done.

]]> http://bikepeddlerutah.com/2010/07/the-dirt-on-sanchez/feed/ 5 http://bikepeddlerutah.com/2010/07/a-funny-thing-happened-while-i-was-on-my-bike/ http://bikepeddlerutah.com/2010/07/a-funny-thing-happened-while-i-was-on-my-bike/#comments Thu, 22 Jul 2010 13:39:55 +0000 Joshua http://bikepeddlerutah.com/?p=1626 Last night we rode from Tibble Fork Reservoir up Mill Canyon(not as fun as it sounds).  After the steep push on the first couple miles, we came across a strange sight.

The Wild Mill Canyon Mustangs

Sorry for the blurry shots, camera phone.  Anyway.  Two horses, with halters and no saddles, and no riders, making their way down the trail.   They were nervous and it took a while before they dared go past us on the trail.  I figured they would head downhill and likely be waiting for their owners at the reservoir.  We finished the big push to the top, came down Tibble, and crossed back over to Lower Mill to finish the loop.  It wasn’t long before Burgi stopped short to avoid a collision with one of the same horses again.  Missing his partner this time, and heading uphill.

That was one of the weirdest things I had ever seen on a bike.  Until this morning.

Most mornings I meet Jeff Orr for a quick morning road ride.  Today we had both tandems with us(Brent and Brian with their wives) and were riding a relaxed pace up through Alpine.  Jeff and I were out in front and passed a jogger who hollered something at us, for a minute I thought it sounded like he said “watch out for the camel…”  That’s silly, there are no cam……..

Out of sheer classiness I will avoid the joke about this guys toes.

That was pretty funny.  What was even funnier is immediately after I snapped that photo, the camel broke into a run, and charged Jeff.

A good friend will take pictures of you being chased by a camel instead of trying to help you.

Jeff would later explain that he figured he could ride faster scared than the camel could run mad.

We stopped for a minute trying to see if we could herd the camel into the open corral on the side of the road.(Ends up somebody owns several camels up there)  But I backed off when I decided I didn’t like the look in his eye.  There was another cyclist who was on the phone with the police I assume, the last thing I heard her say was “It’s up here chasing bikers”

How many mornings have you ever had that started with being charged by a camel?

Woke up at 5 and  tried to get the wheels swapped until I realized that my tires had stretched a little and were now nowhere near a tight enough fit for a successful tubeless setup.  Bagged that, and left the existing wheels on.  Got on the interwebs and printed a trail map to cover for my shotty memory.  I did manage to remember to throw in a spare tire to avoid a repeat of last summer’s blackhawk trip.   A little kiss and make-up session with the wife and I was almost late for the ride.

Historically this ride brings a pretty large group.  But as I pulled up to the shop at 7 there wasn’t a soul.  I knew a couple people would be meeting us at the trailhead, but I was amazed that there weren’t any takers.  Just then Zimm-the-Man pulled up in the newer, old Ford and I volunteered him to drive, as I knew his AC to be more reliable than mine.  We made Nick drive down alone from Provo so there would for sure be another  car to take us back up to the top of Bennie Creek.

At the Grotto Parking lot, Nate and Dave were waiting for us.  It seems Dave rides with the Velo Club occasionally and figured that he had missed us when nobody was at the shop before 7.  FYI I’m usually about five minutes late.

The original plan to park at the Loafer trailhead fell apart when it was packed with shuttle monkeys and hikers.  The new plan was to head up the road a little to the Rock Springs turnoff.    It’s only a little further up, there’s never anybody there, it’s where we would eventually be crossing the road again anyway, and best of all, it saved a little redundant climbing.  From now on when riding Blackhawk loop I will be parking at the Rock Springs turnoff.

Once things got sorted out, and we started riding, all was right with the world again.  Beautiful singletrack, rolling hills with no harsh climbs, a mild temperature(at least compared to the valley), and a relatively small group which made for a lot less regrouping.    To put it more succinctly, good trail.

Zimm-The-Man(Paul)

It looked like we missed the peak of the wildflowers by about a week, but there were still remnants of color.  Also, the summer heat hasn’t turned the lush green into crusty brown yet.

Dave,Nick, Paul, and Nate.

Initial estimates of the distance proved to be a little off.  We reached the campground much sooner than I had thought, and were soon grunting up to the summit.  It’s a middle ring climb but it does drag on.  However if you manage to look up from your front wheel for a second, it has it ’s rewards….

Soon we had reached the summit and crossed over to Frank Young Canyon.  I don’t know Frank, but I wager he’s a cattle man.  This portion of the trail is downright crowded with cows, and smells of the Cache Valley.  At one point there was a standoff.

Moo.

Most of our bovine friends scattered in fear once we got into their personal bubble, and luckily as an evolved prey animal there is rarely any aggression.    There was one incidence of a mother and her calf that would not turn off the trail.  Instead they ambled ahead of us, mooing and frightened.  Finally the mother turned off, but the calf kept going.  It was a low-speed chase, but after a quarter mile or so, we had to stop for fear of separating mother and child.  We finally got the calf off the trail and got down hill from it.  All of us except Nick.  After a longer  than reasonable wait we wondered if Nick had crashed or something.  Suddenly there was a litany of angry moos heading down the trail, and soon the mother came back into view with Nick riding his brakes right behind her.  I was laughing too hard to get a picture.

Soon we were back where we had started, and ready for the downhill dessert.  From Rock Springs we headed over the hill and into the meadows.  Soon we were barreling down a dusty but still fun to ride Bennie Creek Trail.  After all the reasonably smooth and mellow riding we had been doing all morning, the rough, steep downhill was a little jarring but the most fun I’d had all day.   I did manage to inhale a large biting bug which bit my tongue before I could hawk it out.  The weirdest thing about the ride was that we didn’t run into any other mountain bikes.  One pair of horsemen, two groups of hikers, and a herd of cows were it.  Actually we did see two people on WalMart  bikes, sans helmets, with three dogs at the very top of Bennie Creek, but I’m pretty sure they turned around.

All that fretting for nothing.  It was a beautiful day for Blackhawk.  And if you’ve never been to the Daley Freeze in Payson I highly recommend the Lime Freeze.  On a hot sweaty day, it’s life changing.

As it was, we started at the summit, and took Ridge Trail out to Mud Springs.  Same ride we did last week.  At top of the climb that looks at the back of Timp there was some attrition.   Four of us decided that taking a right and heading over to South Fork would be a little less grueling, so they did.  And they were right.

At the bottom of Mud Springs we crossed Tibble and connected over to Mill Canyon.  This would be the first time I had seen the work since spending a Saturday digging on it with several hot chicks last fall.  We settled into the climb and as most have reported, it’s basically a middle ring climb.  Having not brought my A-game, I bobbled a couple of the switchbacks  but purely out of bad bike handling, not because they were too technical.  The trail is wearing in and is perfectly climbable.  The length of the climb is up for debate,  I am hearing reports of anywhere from four miles, to seven.  I had no computer.  Whatever the distance, it does seem long, bordering on arduous.   And it definitely has that “line for Space Mountain” feel.  But to a lesser degree than say….Ziggy.

After we finally popped out at the campground and made our way around to Ridge Trail, I could have sworn that we were in for a long downhill.  Somehow that trail has magically transformed into a series of super technical climbs, followed by a quick,  downhill to the four way.  Once at the intersection, we ran into Bill and Sam,  and eight or ten of the thousand or so moto’s we came across.  Starting to feel the effects of all the climbing we had done, there was some debate as to whether or not we should drop down South Fork and have to climb back up to the summit.  Burgi was feeling froggy so he jumped and we all followed suit. Burgi, myself, Skid, ZenMasterKenny, and Meg were all that was left.  Retro Bill had left us for faster riders(Steve and Kris)  and the others were probably home by now.  I’m glad we did it though.  Because you know what’s wrong with SFLDC?…Not a damn thing.

I did cave in and find the granny gear on the climb back up to the summit, but now I’ve got that pleasantly wrecked feeling.  I think our total mileage from truck to truck was around 15 miles.  And it felt like all of it was climbing. But you’ve got to have one of those every once in awhile.  Good news is we’ve got another one Saturday.  Blackhawk loop baby… bring it.

I did however go on a nice road ride to from Lava Hot Springs to Inkom  along the Old Oregon Trail Road, and Highway 91.  A nice rolling country road with only two vicious Doberman Pinschers to chase me.

Saturday I met up with Zimm-the-Man and the Somers family(Eric and Austin) and we did a good old fashioned shuttle up AF Canyon.  The holiday weekend didn’t seem to be causing too much of a rush on the canyon and we enjoyed cool temps, good trail conditions and a relatively uncrowded canyon.  Despite Austin pushing me up the climbs.

Later that day, I got a message from Fuzzy down in Price.  It seems some private/public land boundaries have recently been sorted out and he’s got his eye on Allrad Canyon to create a new loop.  I was invited to spend the 4th of July exploring the area and was told I’d be back to Price in time to be home in the early afternoon.  You may remember last 4th of July. Yeah this one went pretty much the same.  Only this one wasn’t my fault.  The description was that we’d ride up a canyon(dirt-road) and then cross a mesa and drop down another dirt road that was all torn up and rough.  Scoping out the new trail possibilities as we went.  We started spinning up a road that reminded me more of Hog’s Hollow than anything.  Middle ring, rough enough to keep you interested dirt road.  Several miles in, it started to get a little steeper.  Then it got a little steeper again.  Soon it was walk a few hundred yards, ride a few hundred yards.  Finally it just degraded into a harsh uphill push.  Honestly steep enough that you had to pick your line to walk your damn bike up.  Fuzzy commented several times that he’s glad I came because he would have turned around long ago.  Did I mention the wind?  Or the cold?  Yeah, it was windy and cold.  Finally we made it to the top and the meadow we had been looking for for two and a half hours now.  The best part was, Fuzzy was lost.  No idea where we went from there.  After some discussion we realized that we had just climbed the downhill section of this ride  and that Fuzzy’s judgement may, or may not have been impaired when last he rode this.  At this point, we aimed the bikes down and bombed the road.  The top was so steep that just getting on your bike was a challenge.  Having not dropped my seat, my right testicle(my favorite one) met with the back of the saddle  and I swear I heard the sound of a marker writing on a balloon.  Searing man-pain aside, we had a good time tearing down the mountain.  We started the climb just after 9am, and turned downhill around noon.  It took less than fifteen minutes to go down.  So at 3 hours 15 mins of ride time, and 3 hours of drive time, I came in just under the wire on ZenMasterKenny’s ride-time/drive-time acceptable ratio.  Didn’t manage to get any pictures, but Fuzzy did.

Monday morning, Zimm-The-Man wanted to ride to the summit of AF on the road bikes.  Being a holiday-ish we figured we better get a good early start.  Left the house at 6am for the canyon wearing nothing but the best roadie spandex.  I had grabbed some gloves, arm-warmers, and a vest for the downhill but had them all jammed in my jersey pockets.  Not sure what the actual temp was but it was cold enough that I had condensation on my chin stubble.  Hauling nearly two hundred pounds of all natural trans-fat free Crisco up that canyon road has not gotten any easier in the couple of years it’s been since I tried it.  But the three of us managed to make it and I broke into hypothermic convulsions at the top despite, or possibly because of, being drenched with sweat.  I threw on the extra clothing I had brought up the mountain but it fell miserably short of keeping me warm on the way down.  The wind whipped at my face leaving it red and stinging by the bottom and Jeff(my roadie life-partner) accurately stated that he had never been so happy to pedal when he got to the bottom.  A nice way to start a day off, and be home in time for waffles with the kids.  Later that day however I would realize that I was in no shape to be climbing canyons and Jeff and I spent early Tuesday morning explaining to all the other roadies that we were on a strict “recovery ride”.  Honest skinny little chick in the Park’s kit that blew our doors off.  We did a hard ride yesterday.

Which brings me to tonights ride.  Running late along with several other people we  eventually all made it to the Nukey trailhead and the group ride.  Eight of us set out towards Mud Springs and soon the dirt peloton was in chaos.  Wes and Ryan took a wrong turn at the Pine Hollow intersection, Jake had to hustle home to check the DVR and dragged Jeff along with him and the rest of us were just poking along.  Somehow the breakaway made it through the day and we never saw the three of them again.  But we did get a chance to ride Mud Springs.  As I explained on the ride, Mud Springs is the type of trail I imagine when I am considering what bike to buy.  Rocky, rooty,  steep, technical descending through thick forest.  If I was told I could only ever ride one area for the rest of my life, I think it would be the west face of the Ridge Trail.  Despite the crowds(we had one traffic jam that involved four moto’s, three horses, and the five of us)  it always leaves me with a smile on my face.  Good ride.

A: 8

The funny thing is that only three of the vehicles didn’t start at the shop.  I’m well aware my truck is a P.O.S. but come on.  Skid jumped in with me and EVERYBODY else drove separate and alone.  We got a little bit of stinkeye as we rolled through the high-rent district  parade style.  That’s right,…wassup.

Aside from our ecologically irresponsible carpool, we had a good time.    The point of tonight’s ride was to check out the reroute of the new Rush “flow” trail from the top of Clark’s.  After a nice warmup climb up Hog’s Hollow we regrouped and headed down.

You may remember I had ridden this trail before.  And since then has “discussed” it on UMB a few times.  Last time we rode it, the trail was good for a few hundred yards and then started doing odd things for a downhill-specific trail.  Namely going uphill.  The reroute has completely abandoned the second section in favor of totally different real-estate.  The trail now rolls mostly downhill, and will become one of several good options down.  Several bermed turns, and rollers are riding in nicely though they currently are covered in marble sized pebbles that make cornering tough.  There are still some jumps that are frankly stupid.  Either immediately before or after 180 degree switchbacks which require substantial reductions in speed.  Some new jumps have been added on straightaway sections that are fun, nothing dangerous just opportunities to get your wheels off the ground a little.

Things could go very well for this trail and I’m excited to see what future plans are for the bottom half.

We opted to climb Clark’s back up and it’s good to see that my legs are finally coming back.  Jake took first in the unofficial TT aspect of tonight’s ride followed by Oilcan.

I beat the only person I was worried about beating and I’ll leave it at that.

Fun ride, thanks guys.

Fifteen years ago(or so) I was shown a place affectionately referred to as “Nudie Springs”.  A 45 minute drive to the Diamond Fork turnoff in Spanish Fork Canyon, followed by a short trail.  The attraction is a waterfall surrounded by hot springs trickling in from the banks of the river.  Over the years people have created little pools where the hot runs into the cold creating little hot tubs.  Back then there were two problems.  Finding a Goldilocks pool(just right).  And acting cool when hairy, naked, hippie chicks were sitting in them.

I made the trip several times over the years, but hadn’t been there in probably ten when we headed down Saturday night.  I was expecting a good turnout for this ride and was surprised when nobody met at the shop to carpool down.  I called Ben and Paul who were meeting us down there and caught a ride with them.  On the way down, Kerry Thurgood called to see if I was interested in a night ride and I talked him into joining us down there.  At the Fifth Water parking area, I was stunned to see dozens of cars.  Back when I used to come here, there were only ever a handful of cars and  no more than 15 people at any given time in the pools.

The light was fading fast as we unloaded the bikes and fired up the lights.  The Bills,Pizza and Retro, were waiting for us at the trailhead and Kerry had beaten us there and already started riding.  The trail has changed a little too.  Years of heavy traffic have turned it into 8-10 ft wide freeway of a trail.  As we started cranking up, we met a lot of oncoming traffic.  I would have thought this meant fewer people up at the springs.  I was wrong.

As you approach the springs, the smell of sulfur is overwhelming.  Just when it gets a little too strong, your there.  And what we found was easily 75 people maybe 100.  Between the running water and all the people it becomes noisy. Bodies crammed into every slow moving puddle around.  Families, hippie troupes, singles wards, and high school kids.  I have never seen that many people in the area, let alone at the springs. We peeled down to our swimming attire, mine being  the triathlon shorts I purchased a couple years ago but have never even pulled on.  They’re tight in case your wondering.  Kerry and Brad bugged out pretty quick so Kerry wouldn’t have to explain to the Mrs if Brad saw any naughty bits.  The Bills, Nate, Paul, Ben and myself settled in for a nice soak.

I guess they’ll have to change the name of them.   No naked hippies in sight.  Unless you count Pauls shameless outfit changes getting in and out it was a PG  night all around.  For about twenty minutes, a few groups left and we had one pool all to ourselves, but once the zoobies who were honoring their curfew left, the UVU crowd showed up and it was crowded again.

We headed back down just before midnight, and the crowds were getting bigger, not smaller.  The trail was butthole to bellybutton all the way down.  We took it slow and just rolled down.

The night was definitely more about the destination than the ride, the round trip only came to around five miles.  Maybe that accounts for the low turnout, but it was totally worth getting home a 1:30 smelling like rotten eggs.

Jeff from Cali, Mike"The Hammer" Lynsky,Robert Stevens and his yellow shirt, and Chris Burrell

All the “new” people met at the shop, and then we found some regulars at the mouth of the canyon.  In all ten people showed up.

Captain of the Women's Team Sally, and a spy from Timp's 24 HoM team

As Tibble was still closed we rode Little Deer Creek South Fork again, if you haven’t ridden it yet, you missed the super tacky perfect conditions.  Things are starting to get dusty.  Not choking bad yet, but dusty.

Be sure your chair backs and trays are in the full upright, and locked positions.

A pretty run of the mill lap around LDCSF, until we headed down.  There is one little climb in the middle of the two mile descent of Little Deer Creek.  Just long enough to regain your composure.  I will, from now on, refer to it as “Coitus Interuptus”.

Anyway, Wes and Jeff were ahead of me on the trail, and as I was spinning up “Coitus Interuptus”, I heard a couple moto’s heading our way.  I decided to wait at the top of “Coitus Interuptus” and let them pass so my “Coitus” didn’t get “Interuptus” again.  A couple seconds passed, they were getting closer,…closer, ….then they stopped.  Wasn’t sure what was going on, so I headed down.  Here is what I came up on:

I didn't realize there was this much ass in the shot when I took it.

The dude with no helmet, and the dude in the plaid shirt that you can barely see were the moto’s.  Ends up, Wes was in the zone and didn’t hear the oncoming traffic.  Further, when you put a guy who runs 6′6″ on an XL sized 29er there’s a lot of momentum.  So much so, that the immovable object met the irresistible force, and Wes body-checked the moto into the rhubarb. Talk about your user-conflict.

Apparently no worse for wear, everybody walked away without any major injuries.  And the moto guys couldn’t have been nicer about the whole thing.  Or maybe they were afraid Wes would knock them down again.  Either way, the lesson I take away from all this is:

DON’T MESS WITH BIG WES!

Big turnout for today’s ride in Park City. Six of us made the trek from Utah County and met up with another eight at the Spring Valley Trailhead.  It almost seems like the further we go the more people we get.    Along for the day were the Bishopric(Chad and Noah), Bill,Nate, Zimm-The-Man(thanks for driving), Team Jarnecke, and the Spandex boys consisting of Cobourn, Matty Love, Moody,Larry, and Moody’s two buddies(names?).

Luckily Cobourn taught Pam some new words that she would use later on in the day.

This is only the second time I have done this loop personally.  It’s good stuff.  We did the big counterclockwise loop grinding up through the sage brush and making our way into the aspens.  Not a terribly stiff climb, but a decent workout.  The group was heavy on BS today granting plenty of opportunities for regrouping.  Jeremy is still recovering from back surgery, and he makes Pam carry all the extra water and gear.  This put them at the back but being the competent riders they are they insisted we  not wait for them.  They would later catch up to us after Paul’s second damn flat tire.

Forced dismount due to a gaggle of spandex chicks at this intersection.

The original plan for the spandex clan was to ride with us, and then move to the other side of the freeway for some more mileage.  Matt “Big” Love’s singlespeed notwithstanding. It’s a pretty good grind to the top, and a welcome sight when you see it.

This is not, the greatest photo in the world. This is just a tribute.

Descending on Flying Dog is orgasmic.  Fast, shaded, descending that seems to go on forever.  The smooth tacky trail is only occasionally interrupted by  run-offs that make nice little poppers if you dare lift your tires off the ground and risk blowing the next switchback.

Not sure why we passed so many people traveling the other direction.  The consensus of our group is that the longest most enjoyable downhill was the way we were going.  This trail must get a ton of traffic, and there were more than a few uphill riders we encountered with varying amounts of diplomacy.

By the time we made it back to the cars, the spandex crew had talked themselves out of the extended ride, opting for taco’s instead. Don’t blame them, my legs are still burning a little.

Thanks again to everybody, this is what a Saturday group ride should be like.  Minus Cobourn’s potty mouth.