The fun regressed last weekend, starting with type 3. That Prince guy is not afraid to walk. Which is lucky
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Sometimes we rode up, but that hurt more. The trail was made by mules driven by whip testers whose ghosts haunt the blind left turns that hide surprise assents of easily bypassed knolls. The map says they only hit 45% grades, but if that were true someone would have taken a picture. Photos stop at 46%.
Look away, it's hideous
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Aw, hell with it. Type 2 fun was achieved. Sometimes the trail went down a little.
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Type 1 fun was brief. Some tried to savor it.
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Mrsjono eventually built a little momentum.
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What goes up must stop and enjoy the view briefly before a white knuckle descent of 2500' in < 2 miles on orange pow. In this case, view was enjoyed with biting flies. That one got me inside my left calf. Or his cousin. No, I blame him.
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Orange pow pics were few and far between once 50% grades became common. I did get this last one before that, though. It's not a great pic, but it makes a perfectly viable receipt: everyone rode. Until they didn't.
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Then came switchbacks, some had enough room for 3-point turns. Others had room to ride, and made 46% grades seem fine--as long as "fine" means re-mounting while holding the bike by its front brake, jumping on one pedal to keep the rear end on the ground and releasing brake in time to save the family jewels from the top tube. Mostly. If that worked 46% was fine. Until it got steeper. I'll never forget saying "oh hell with this, I'm walking!" My ballistic trajectory ended as my cleats rammed into the earth as gently as a maul striking a fawn--only to look back and see I'd been dead last to reach the only logical conclusion. It got fun again, though. Eventually. Before it didn't.
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Overall, a beautiful moment of distraction on our nation's birthday. 2020 distraction is painfully earned. And totally worth it.
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