Are You Living It?

How warm was it today in the Southwest? 75? Too bad more snow is right around the corner. Since all of my brah’s were skiing Silverton, I thought I’d hit the mountain bike and check out some trails East of D-town. I mentioned Phil’s World to a few folks and received incredulous looks, but I knew there had to be something rideable. The fellas at my favorite shop (not the pretentious one, and not the tragically hip one, just the plain ol “How’s it goin’ Rushie-Brah-one”) pointed me towards some other goodies that had potential. I set off like Major Tom, overwhelmed by the sense that my car was a satellite and I was going to uncharted territory. Halfway there I made the requisite stop to one of the ‘absolutely’ coolest bakeries in any town that starts with an M, picked up some carb-packed treats (Lemon-blueberry bars!!! Are you kidding?) and a cup of Nairobian jet fuel and continued on… past Mesa Verde, past Cortez. My mind was on the tragedy that had occurred here a decade earlier, when some half-wit survivalist types had stolen a water truck and killed a Cortez police officer. Since then, I have always equated that area with the archetypal meth-head with a flatbed truck, a shotgun, and a blue heeler. Sorry, I know I’m painting a general swath that is patently unfair. But when I asked the tatoo-stricken fella in the beat up Chevy how to get to Sand Canyon, I felt a pang of uncertainty about letting him know exactly where I was going to park my car for the next 3 hours. Well I’ll be tarred and feathered, the first people I met at the trailhead were kind enough to give me a ‘virtual’ tour of the area on the BLM map, and I was on my way. The slickrock was fresh, not frozen, and the single track had its damp moments. The ubiquitous sand of Sand Canyon was slow going in some places, but a little water content in the right places made it bearable. I felt like Pecos Bill as I rolled past millions of years old painted sandstone formations, vivid in the noon day sun. A point of view overlooking the canyon was framed perfectly by a burnt out old scrub oak, and I longed for my camera. The climbs felt good to my legs. After a winter of wearing pants (with pockets!) my skin looks like I went albino like some people go vegan. Months of skiing have done the muscles and heart some good, and the effort was bearable. A shower of sweat dropping from one’s forehead is a good sign, and the sun felt great! The singular lizard that darted out for a brief moment agreed with me. 2 hours later, ride over and digging into my lemon bar, I sighed a long one, and thought about the upcoming Western States road tour that the LYP boys have put me up to. Can’t Wait!–Jay Rush