The great Wapiti, more commonly called Elk, particularly Rocky Mountain Elk, is one of the largest games animals in North America. Colorado’s high rockies house the largest elk herd in the US. Despite their healthy numbers, they remain an elusive and difficult animal for hunters to track and harvest each fall, especially in the San Juan mountains outside of Durango.

Last season,I unsuccessfully stalked Wapiti with a bow off and on throughout the month of September. I only saw one animal the entire time, and walked out of the woods feeling defeated, yet having learned some important lessons. I vowed to try again next fall.

I wanted to hunt  archery season again this year, but my workload and timing from running an expanding tiny house business just didn’t allow for it. I opted to buy a rifle and try my luck in 2nd rifle season instead.

My adventure began Friday evening as I was finally able to break off from work and head north out of town to establish a base camp on Old Lime Creek road close to Deer Creek. I had really wanted to get there in daylight to find a good spot, setup, and get a good nights rest. Oh well, life gets in the way sometimes. At least I had made arrangements with my employee and clients to actually take a whole week off to chase this elusive beast.

They say that game animals are most active in the early mornings and evenings. A committed hunter is willing to wake up way before sunrise to cook and eat breakfast, get packed up, and be on the trail to a spot where they think animals might before before sunrise. For me, this amounted to waking up at 5:30am every single day, a bit of a change from 7:30am. To help, I would cut up veggies, have the water pot filled with water, and have coffee grinds in the french press the night before. It didn’t take long for me to develop a routine-prep at night, sleep, morning procedure, out in the bush all day long, dinner, repeat.

Day One. I hiked the Deer Creek Drainage , zig zagged some good looking slopes, saw lots of grouse, decided to hike up to a ridge to peek into the next drainage over, and from there, decided to hike up to 12,600 foot Jura Knob to get an even better viewpoint of all my surroundings. This required some postholing in 12″ of snow on north slopes from a storm the weekend before, but the view was amazing and the information gained was valuable. I was hearing reports that the Elk were still way up high at treeline since there hadn’t been enough snow yet to push them down to lower elevations. From my most spectacular glassing point, I saw nothing but blaze orange walking around in every which direction. Lots of hunters, no animals. Time to abandon this area and look elsewhere.

Day Two. I hiked around some terrain on the east side of Lime Creek this time, going up a ways towards Andrews Lake, then south towards Crater Lake. I came across more blaze orange and some faint signs of Elk, but nothing convincing enough to keep me around. I had to cross Lime Creek barefoot at a deeper and more treacherous point south of camp (36 degree water!), but did so safely and was able to climb back up to Lime Creek Road where Rocco and I hitched a ride back to camp.

From my initial scouting, I was able to deduce that the Elk were not up high, and were not on the east side of US 550, so it was back to the drawing board. Some careful study of my maps led me to believe Elbert Creek might be a good place to find Wapiti, so I drove over there and setup a camp mid day. We had time to hike about 6 miles before sunset and rule out quite of bit of terrain that I thought would have been ideal, yet showed no signs whatsoever.

Day Three-Rocco and I set out for the Elbert Creek trail, heading west down into the Hermosa Creek drainage. We were to scope out some tributary drainages with some good north facing slopes. Our travels again presented a lot of blaze orange, this time though, from horse camp hunters that had packed in via horses from outfitters. All these folks were from out of state, and it sooned dawned on me that they were out of shape and not really good Elk hunters. This assumption only lasted another hour or so as I heard a gunshot a few drainages to the north of me where I wanted to head anyways.

After bushwacking cross country for a few hours, I finally crossed over a ridge and started to find fresh tracks and poo. I latched onto a really good trail that led me to an animal. Unfortunately, it was the animal on the business end of the shot I had heard a few hours earlier and lay dead sandwiched between two trees. I came across the carcass the same time as the guy who shot it did. It took him so long to find because he had shot it from yet another ridge 600 yards across the creek. I couldn’t believe that he had actually spotted that bull bedded down in such thick dark cover from so far away, and further more, that he actually made the shot. So, while out of state folks might be really good shots, I still believe they aren’t good high country elk hunters.

After not seeing a whole lot more following hiking around a few more hours, it was back to the truck. My logic at this point concluded that the animals were somewhere between Elbert Creek and Engineer mountain at moderate elevations on dark steep heavily wooded north facing slopes, so I found a spot on my map that met this criteria and scouted it out until it got dark, not seeing anything. From there, it was down to Haviland Lake where Laura and her dad were camping out. We cooked up the last pound of ground elk I had from last season as a token of good luck. Laura was hoping to get another bull this year following success last season.

Day Four-After a brief scouting trip around the beaver ponds in Chris Park,  I decided to return to town to resupply, re-group, and check in on the business. I put in some inquiries to other friends seeing if they had seen or heard anything. My good friend Eric Ryba, who likes to help me with Tiny House woodworking projects, knew of a place  north of Pagosa Springs that his buddy Joe had taken an Elk the last 2 of 3 seasons. After studying my map for a while, I concluded that this would be a good location to try out. I was itching to try some place other than the mountains around Purgatory, so off I went in a new direction. Eric wanted to go along with me for a day to get some hiking in and hopefully help pack out an animal if I got one. I stopped off in Pagosa for a hot soak, then headed up to the location where I would setup my basecamp for the next few days. I was a little disheartened upon arrival to see a slew of horse camps setup. The general rule for elk success is to find a place where there aren’t other hunters. Eric had been up just a few weeks prior without seeing anyone, so this troubled me. One of the hunters from the Oklahoma camp came by to chat since we were newcomers. He told us of all the places he had been without seeing anything. What he didn’t tell me was more encouraging than what he did though. These lowlanders weren’t fit for this terrain, even with horses. I could tell that they hadn’t gotten up to where I was planning on scouting, so I kept my resolve high and stuck to the plan.

Day Five-Eric, Rocco, and I set out from 8,100 feet early in the morning on our hike. After gaining a few thousand feet over about 3 miles, it was time to get off the trail and start exploring some Weminuche backcountry. The higher up and further off trail we got, the better and better the signs became. Lots of fresh tracks and poop. Lots of good water, grass, and cover for the animals. At four different spots we could actually smell the elk and sense their presence, going into stealth hunting mode and even sitting down for a while waiting. As strong as the scent was, we thought for sure we’d see some and eventually we did spook 3 cows, but my tag was only good for a bull, so we kept scouting. We sat through a 30 minute sleet storm under some spruce trees before deciding that daylight was waning and we had better make it back down to the car before nightfall. I hadn’t quite packed enough gear to camp out that high up, but wished I had. I set a plan to pack in a camp the next day. The signs were just too good to pass this location up. My hunch that the horse hunters had not been up to this spot was confirmed. Eric had to be back in town and couldn’t stay another night, but he was gracious enough to take Rocco back with him to Durango since I knew I would need absolute stealth and not having to worry about a dog busting my presence, so I said farewell to my friends when we got back to the car. I built a fire to cook dinner on and dry out some clothing since the days hike had taken us through some marshy and moist terrain. I swapped my field pack for the big backpack and got it situated with camping gear, food, and items I would need for the hunt and harvest.

Day Six– I got a slow start this morning since all this backcountry hiking was starting to wear my body down, but got my big pack thrown on and began the arduous hike back up to spot where I could setup a new camp. I found a nice flat spot at about 10,700 ft up, just below where the signs were really heavy that we had scouted the day before. After setting up camp and having lunch, I set out around noon to see what I could find. About an hour later, I was just strolling along and spotted a cow about 70 yards up. She spotted me too, but I was downwind, so I froze until she started going about her business. At the same time, I heard bugles, and then saw five more cows come down behind her, followed by a bull. All of sudden, there were elk everywhere just frollicking around. Little babies mewing like crazy, mommas trying to keep them in line, and at least 4 or 5 bulls strutting around. I had found the jackpot. I had never witnessed a herd like this in person so close up. It was incredible.

Being conscious of my movement and noise, I attempted to loop back around to find a spot it looked like they were moving towards. I settled in some nice cover and waited for a while but did not see anything heading my way, so I figured they had changed their minds. I ran back upslope to re-establish visual, and luckily relocated  them without disclosing my presence. I found another good spot from above, settled down on a nice old log, and waited patiently. My spot was maybe 45 yards horizontal and 30 yards vertical in distance. I scoped in on a cow, then another, then two more, finally, a beautiful bull. He must have known something wasn’t quite right, because he stopped right in front of a tree, blocking the shot I needed. I stayed on him for a few minutes waiting for him to take just one step forward. When he finally did it seemed as if the gun went off without me even thinking about it. Animals were scattering everywhere amidst the echoing of a 30-06 bullet discharge. All but one. The bullet did not go where I had wanted it to, for I think my scope sighting had gotten off from so much bushwacking, plus I was quartered away a tad bit more than I wanted, but nonetheless, hit vitals it did, and dropped him. Ecstatic that I had not only found such a large herd but also had gotten a successful shot off, I ran down to the animal very quickly.

He was still alive when I got there, struggling to get up. I chambered another bullet and was prepared to fire again to end his suffering immediately, but I could tell he was slipping away quickly. There was no need to make a mess and cause any more fear for the other Wapiti that were still scattering off.  I put my rifle against a tree, and laid down next to the mighty beast. I placed one hand upon his heart, and the other upon his head. I thanked him for his sacrifice and told him not to fight anymore, to just let go. He had lived a good life and his vitality would live through me for many months to come.  Life gently passed from this amazing creature and the conundrum of the last few minutes turned to silence. I gave him a hug, and then I broke down. I cried like I had never cried before. It was mostly tears of abundant joy, tears of vindication. I had worked so hard and sacrificed much to be at this moment in life, I had never thought I would react like this. I’m glad there was nobody else there but me. It took a while to calm down and gain my composure once again, but when I did, I wasted no time in beginning the long task of skinning, quartering, and packing out. I had made the shot at about 1pm at about 11.200 feet up, and sunset was at 6:30. High camp was at 10,700 and half a mile away. Basecamp was at 8,100 feet and six miles away. There was no cell reception within 20 miles of where I was, so I was on my own, for the time being. I was able to get all the usable meat into four bags. There was enough time after this to ferry three of those bags back down to my high camp. The fourth would have to wait til daybreak. Upon making it to camp after the 3rd bag, I got a fire going for dinner, warmth, and celebration. To save weight, I had not brought any whiskey, tobacco, or grass, but moments like these require no such mind altering substances. I was high off life. As joyful as I was, I was also extremely exhausted and glad to crawl in my sleeping bag for the night.

Day Seven October 24, 2014

I only spell out the date for this particular day since it was my birthday. What a birthday gift God had given me. A massive beautiful creature that I now had to find a way to get back to my truck. At first light, I crawled out of bed and heated up some breakfast I had made the night before, along with some chai tea. I made another trip to the harvest site to fetch the last bag of meat before retracing my steps to high camp where I re-distributed weight so the loads would be more even before taking my first load down. Upon making it to basecamp, I was fatigued. This was a task I could handle solo, but I knew some help would be greatly appreciated. I was hopeful I would run into some folks from one of the horse camps and ask if I could borrow a horse or burro, but no one was there, or they were all packing up to go back to their respective states. Plan B, for I had thought it through on the long hike back down, was to drive until I could get cell service or make it to Sportsmans Campground down the road where there was land line.

The land line ended up being the best and quickest option where I was able to get a hold of Eric again, and he hopped in his car ASAP and met me there in about an hour and a half. We drove back to base camp and hiked up to high camp and then on to the harvest where he grabbed the hide and I grabbed the head before heading back to high camp. From there, I swapped the head for a HEAVY load of meat and Eric added a meat quarter to the hide. He had also brought Rocco back and I was able to load him up with about 20 lbs of meat. We were able to make it most of the way down before nightfall but had to hike the last 45 minutes or so in the dark. We snacked on some munchies and enjoyed a beer together before he had to head back to town. After some prep work for the next day, I crashed hard. Happy birthday, you crazy caveman.

Day Eight

After breakfast and coffee, Rocco and I headed up to high camp one last time to get the last of the meat, the rest of my gear, and the head. The load was great, but I think my body was starting to adjust to all this mountain hiking and weight bearing. We took our time, watched our footing, and were back to the car around 11am. It took a good 40 minutes to drive back to Pagosa where I stopped a little while to check 20 something voicemails, most of which were happy birthdays, then it was down into town for much deserved soak in the hippy dip. From there it was back to Durango to start the long process of unpacking, getting the meat cold, initial processing, and some R&R.

I might not have any great cycling adventures these days, for work has taken a heavy toll on my time and energy, but adventure still lives on, and great adventures they are. This one certainly has to rank as the greatest one yet. I do not regret moving to the mountains one iota. My friend Laura posted a quote the other day “A bad day hunting beats a good day at work.” Couldn’t agree more. Luckily, I had a great week of hunting, so it was that much better. Next year, I hope to revisit those sacred hunting grounds with my bow, and hope for continued success. Thanks for checking in. Thanks be to the Good Lord for a safe and fruitful journey. Lots of thanks to Eric for showing me this new spot, helping pack out, and great camaraderie. Friendships like this are invaluable. Long live the mighty Wapiti.

I realized today that I haven’t written anything in a while. That’s because I’ve been busy. Busy with work, busy riding bikes, busy living life. A series of events have aspired over the last year or so that have changed me dramatically. Basically since I started a Tiny House business exactly a year ago. I have dug deep into my soul, pushed my faith to the limit, I have asked myself intense questions, I have busted my ass day in and day out. I have given everything I have to this new endeavor. I put it all on the line. I could have lost, and I nearly did, but I’m still kicking, and kicking ass at that. In my lowest of lows, my faith held strong, and the first Tiny House sold. Some breathing room at last. And then, the calls started coming. Opportunity was knocking at my door. Now, I am poised for an awesome summer of designing and building Tiny Houses, something that I whole-heartedly love doing everyday.

Throughout this journey, I have realized that I can do things beyond what I thought I could. I have matured and learned so much. I am a bonafide successful small business owner, providing a unique, quality service that people will pay me for. Not only this, I am inspired to do more than just build tiny houses. I have a dream of making them accessible to everybody. I’m working with city officials across the country to see what it’s going to take to make them legal. I’m seeking out partnerships with lenders willing to do financing. I give out valuable free advice all the time to people building their own house because I know the more people that join the movement the better. I’m partnering with other builders across the country.

On a personal note, I feel like I have finally and completely conquered the demons that have been lounging around from a failed marriage not too long ago. That time in my life is behind me. The time to live is now, in the moment. When I am maybe feeling a bit lonely, I go downtown and a look from a cute girl reminds me I still have much going for me. I go to church on Sundays and am filled with the Holy Spirit. Small things in nature like seeing a rabbit, listening to the river flow by, looking up at the magnificent San Juan Mountains, seeing a choke cherry tree start its spring bloom-they all remind how beautiful and precious life is.

I have put away childish things. That’s not to say I’m not young at heart any more, I’m just focusing on living a life of integrity, of leaving a legacy of some sort. I do want to make money. A man has to eat, but this is not my primary objective. I live a simple life and don’t want nicer or bigger things. I have zero debt in my life and would like to keep it that way. I would like to travel more, and see the world. Gain insight into other places and culture.

I use to make my rounds in the bars across Durango, not so much these days. I’ve messed around with some women, even broke a few hearts. Not anymore.  I used to get distracted by silly time wasting stuff on the internet. I’ve got more important things to do. There’s all sorts of childish things that I am putting behind me as I start a new chapter in my life.

James McMurtry- I Put Away Childish Things

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jY5HFFH2Z50

This year, unlike years past, I’m not going to recap the past 365 days. Not that it was a bad year, in fact it was a pretty good year. For some reason, I just don’t feel like a recap is all that important. I did want to reflect a little on this time in space exactly one year ago, though. I was sitting next to a dog on a few feet of snow watching a fire burn somewhere in the middle of the Pecos Wilderness outside of Sante Fe in sub zero temperatures. I was thinking back on 2012 and also ahead of all the goals I wanted to accomplish in 2013. No fireworks, no alcohol, no silly hats or whistles, no people, no ticking clock, just absolute solitude and quiet.

This New Year’s Eve, I find myself in a polar opposite, albeit familiar place, Austin, TX. I’m hanging out down here in the warmer temps, getting in some good training, and even getting a little office work done before one last TX race on Jan 4 and then a long drive back to Durango. Some things I miss about the mountains already, but my time here has made me realize what I miss about Austin- the Greenbelt, breakfast tacos, incredible sunsets, a beautiful skyline, the Capitol, UT, Posse East, and the awesome bike routes, to name a few.  Austin’s achilles heel is always quick to remind me what I don’t miss about her though: traffic.

Anyways, 2013 was what it was. I don’t wish for 2014 to be a good year for you, but  instead, for you to take initiative to make it good year. Luck and circumstance only go so far, the rest is up to you. So hopefully, you aren’t too hungover to start anew and start kicking some ass from the get go. I can tell you that my aspirations for this year are absolutely HUGE. I will be mindful of my limits but I will not settle for mediocrity. Awesome adventure awaits. It’s time to take the bull by the horn! Happy 2014.
Greg

Life is mostly good here in Durango. It’s been cold, and there’s more snow on the ground than the past two winters, but I’m getting used to it. I’m wrapping up construction on the first Tiny House for sale, and I must say, it is a beauty. I’ve dabbled in a little bit of cyclocross racing this season, getting my ass handed to me, but it’s been fun and my fitness is slowly improving. I’ve also acquired a fatbike so I can ride in the snow throughout the winter. Skiing has also started up. Though life is generally good, I’m feeling as if something is missing. I’ve been feeling as if I could do more, be more, on a personal level, a business level, an athletic level.  I’m lacking some kind of spark. I’m holding tight to my plan to make this new business work, but I’m having doubts and struggles. I don’t seem to be getting the amount of interest needed to make it work.  I’m racing again, but finishing a few spots from last doesn’t do much to boost confidence. I get lonely at times, and find myself longing for a mate that I can share life with.

The other night I was winding down before bed, playing a game of spider solitaire and listening to an old playlist I had on media player. A sad song come on that reminded me of Colleen, and I began thumbing through some old pictures of us. We had some really good times together, and for that I am grateful, but when you take a trip down memory lane like this, it can invoke some serious heartache, not to mention add fuel to my feelings of inadequacy.

I’m not writing this to sulk. This musing is a call to arms. I don’t even care if no one else reads all this bs. This is a journal entry to remind myself of this turning point. I just happen to be sharing it with the world. Call it my means of accountability.

Right after that brooding song, the Rocky theme song came on. My melancholy quickly turned to fierce determination. If this song doesn’t inspire one to get off their rump and kick some ass, I don’t know what will.

Yes, things are ok. Sure, I live a fairly fulfilling life that others often tell me they envy. Maybe by their standards, but not by mine. Today, the bar is raised. My goals are a little loftier. I set forth with a new manifest to put forth every ounce of energy, creativity, resource, and talent that I have to be the absolute best that I can be. I know I can be on the podium of a big 24 hour mountain bike race once more. I can grow my business into the grand vision I have for it. I can retire early to see the world, do mission work, spend more time with family and friends, and spread more goodwill. I can find that perfect mate to share in my trials and tribulations. I can be a better person.

This can all be done, and it will. I’ve made good strides in life, but the BEST is yet to come…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioE_O7Lm0I4

This past weekend I made a short drive down to Palo Duro Canyon to participate in the first race of the TMBRA Marathon series. I had big aspirations to train hard and do more racing following the Vapor Trail 125, but I have allowed my new business to consume more time and energy than I originally thought I was. I’m not upset about this, because I love what I’m doing these days, but now that the dust has settled, so to speak, I’ve got some serious catching up to do. My return to racing actually began two weekends ago when I jumped in a local cyclocross race and got absolutely destroyed. I had that coming, so no surprise. I knew going down to Amarillo would be a pretty good ass kicking too, and it didn’t disappoint!

The weather was awesome, mostly. Sunny skies, temps in 60-70’s, and windy. Very windy. Even though I was mentally prepared to do battle with the  50 mph gusts forecast for the day, my body was not. My body was just not really prepared for a race like this period. Getting back to this level of racing doesn’t happen overnight. Nonetheless, I rode my guts out, overcome tremendous physical pain, and finished in an ok time. Finishing in the money would have been nice, but this was not my goal. I knew it was a longshot anyways with the amount of talent that the large payout attracts. I tell you what, when you set your goal to beat the living crap out of yourself and use a ride like this to kickstart your training again, not only can you enjoy the experience a little more since results aren’t relevant, but you sure as hell can surpass that goal!

The race consisted of three 17 mile laps. At the starting sprint, I got into a nice position before heading into the singletrack and boy were the lungs burning! This lap was blazing fast. A few racers passed me, but I also passed a few more. I was hurting, but feeling good about how things were progressing. Then came lap 2, the lap from hell. The field was spread out by this point and I had no one to trade turns fighting that ridiculous wind. I was exceeding my redline and felt leg cramps coming on, so I had to back way off and let quite a few people pass. No worries though, I know I am a 2nd half fighter. I just needed to reach that nirvana point when enough adrenaline kicks in to overcome the pain. I was cruising along and on one of the descents my front wheel slid out in a loose turn and I went down hard, in a cactus no less. All of those little barbs sure did hurt, but not nearly as bad as the leg cramps that resulted from the impact. No big deal though. Pick those barbs out of your palms with your teeth, do a little stretching, get back on the trail.

I rolled into the pit limping. I stopped to eat some food, hydrate, and massage/stretch the legs. Some lady saw me hurting and brought me some pickle juice, which I downed in a second. That stuff is awesome, and probably saved me. After quite a few people blew by to start lap 3, I mounted my trusty steed refreshed and the real fun began. I like being a wolf chasing down rabbits, and chase down some rabbits I did. I pushed through tremendous pain and demoralizing winds to pick off about 12 riders all the while not getting passed by anyone else. Although nowhere near the ranks or prowess of my former TMBRA days, that third lap was a great moral victory and this trip to the canyon was exactly what I needed to get my butt back on track.

I am looking forward to a few more cross races this year, hopefully a few more of these Texas marathon races, and some hardcore training over the winter. My long term goal is to be in good shape for 24 Hours In the Old Pueblo Feb 15, and to be in exceptional shape come June 15 for 24 Hour Nationals. It will be tough to balance my racing desires with my workload, but it can-and it will-be done.

I really enjoyed being back in Texas and seeing some familiar faces. I want to thank the old captain, James Webb, for letting me pit at his tent and still being one of most generous, laid back persons I know. Thanks to Team Kordestani and all the volunteers for putting on this awesome event.  The next adventure awaits!

Back in September I bought an archery elk tag and for three straight weekends wandered out into the woods in search of these elusive creatures. The first two weekends were very unsuccessful. I battled the elements and left the woods with only a huge appetite and a tired body. I only saw a few signs, and no animals. The last weekend of the season was better. I drove up the very bumpy, tight, and slightly snowed on Lewis Creek road to the base of Eagle pass between Lewis and Silver mountains. Here, at the parking area, I met a fellow who had his camp setup out of his old Toyota pickup. A very interesting fellow, he was. He was getting his gear ready and putting on black face paint. He seemed extremely old school by the looks of his garments, and the way he spoke, yet, I could tell he knew a lot more about hunting Elk with a bow than I did. He was wanting to know my plans, so that he could keep a distance from me so we could avoid making calls to each other and not spook each other’s animals. We wished each other good luck, I mounted my backpack, and off I went, trudging through the 4-6″ of fresh snow that had fallen that morning.

The signs were more abundant, and I could even hear some bulls bugling in the vicinity. The terrain just felt more like Elk habitat, and the fact that it was so hard to get to had my spirits high that I would at least see something if not have the chance to let loose an arrow. I spent Friday getting my base camp set up and scouting a good place to hunt. The signs were ok, but I felt I could find a better place. After combing several different ridges and valleys until sunset, I decided to get back to camp, eat some dinner, and hit the hay in 20 degree temps.

I don’t know if it was the altitude, the cold, or the hard effort from the day before, but, the next morning I just couldn’t get myself out of bed at sunrise to start the hunt. My body needed rest, and so I slept in a little. My instinct told me the elk were over on Wild Oat Mesa, a good 4-5 miles away on very rugged terrain. I had to make a decision whether to make it a day hike and return to my base camp, or pack a mini camp with me and rough it up on the mesa. I decided to go the latter route and took only the bare necessities with me along with my bivy and sleeping bag strapped to my day pack. I started out on my hike with my senses on full alert for any animals because it was still morning time. I was contouring around one of several ridges that I would have to cross this very day. I happened to look downhill a little bit, and there he was, the man in the woods, the same guy I had met at the parking area the morning before.  I honestly can’t believe I saw him, for one, there is a huge amount of wide open wilderness out there and for two men to randomly come across one another at the same moment in time isn’t likely, but also, he was extremely well camouflaged and standing as still as tree. In fact, I thought he was a tree upon first glance. He was so still and focused, that I feared he was locked on to an elk and had just scared it away. I gave him a slight “pssst” to which he gave me a slight acknowledgement. After a few more seconds, he kind of whispered loudly, “I got an arrow in one. I’ve tracked the blood trail to this point and I’ve been looking for him all morning. I was super excited for him, and also for me, because that meant I was in a good spot!

He motioned for me to come down to him and have a talk. He was hunting with a very burly old school long bow-just as much a piece of art as it was a weapon. His camo was anything but the modern mossy oak or real tree stuff you see gung-ho hunters wearing these days, yet, he blended into the environment much better than anything I had ever seen before. He wore a mixture of old army camo, wool, a black hunting pack, and used black facepaint. It was so simple, yet so effective. We spoke in a low whisper about his situation. He knew his shot was questionable, most likely out of the kill zone, and not very good penetration. “He’ll probably just shrug this one off” he said. I told him I was heading over towards Wild Oat, and that if I saw his bull in the next few minutes that I would let out three quick cow calls. I bid the Man in the Woods farewell once more and continued my journey. I was really hoping to see that bull on the ground, but didn’t.

I spend the rest of the day criss crossing lots of rugged mountain terrain, all the time, the signs got better and better. I found a place close to the top of Wild Oat mesa that was full of fresh signs and knew this would be my hunting spot for the morning. I still had a few hours of light left so I continued south down to the mesa where I found a really nice saddle separating the mesa from the area I would hunt in the morning. I decided to wander down the mesa a little and set up my mini camp for the night, before returning to that saddle to wait out the night. After stalking the saddle for a while, I heard a bull let out a big bugle to the south of me in the direction I had just set up my camp. I sent out a cow call to entice him in my direction. He never spoke back, but I should have still taken that first call as a sign to head back to my camp a bit more carefully. While en route to my camp a few minutes after sunset, I spotted this monster of a bull at 70 yards or so. I tried to quickly take cover behind a tree, but it was too late, I had spooked him and he was gone. My best chance of the entire season, I and blew it. Nonetheless, I knew elk were in the area, I would just have to endure a night of temps in the teens and try to find them at daybreak.

The next morning I got up early, packed up camp and header over to my secret spot. I waited there for quite some time, but nothing came by, plus, I could hear bugles coming from the direction that my base camp was in, so I decided to start heading back and see what I could find. The rest of the day I began finding fresh tracks, fresh poo, and lots of communication. I was hot on the heels of one or two bulls but I just couldn’t keep up with, despite my efforts to call them to me with my cow mew. I eventually had to call it a day, get back to my base camp, pack it up, and hike back over the pass and down to the car, which I was barely able to do before sunset. The result of this trip was much the same as the others: no meat and a very tired and hungry body. However, I learned a lot from this trip. Even though my encounter with the Man in the Woods was brief, I felt like he taught me some very important lessons. Not only this, he inspired me to go out and buy a long bow. I’ve been practicing diligently this fall and getting pretty decent at it. I don’t even shoot my compound anymore, and wonder if I’ll ever go back to it. Who knows?

Any how, this Man in the Woods has just been on my mind a lot lately. I hope that someday I can be as skilled and as awesome as he is. Perhaps someday, we shall meet again, and I hope we do.

Today, I would like to share a story of serendipity with you, and perhaps a lesson about going with the flow and being flexible. Now, these sorts of life events happen to me every now and then, some might say a little more so compared to the average person, but to those people, I say it’s because I will it to happen, I see the opportunity when it arises, and I’m willing to jump all over it when given the chance. Something like this could happen to you just as easily, but you must be putting out the energy for it to do so.
My story begins in the Sawtooth Wilderness of central Idaho. I had been on the road for 8 days, driving, sightseeing, paddling, biking, hiking, and camping along forest roads and parking lots. My dog Rocco was with me doing a lot of those things, but no other people. After hiking a few hours in the wilderness and seeing nary an animal, let alone a human, it occurred to me how lonely a soul I was out here in the middle of nowhere, and throughout my journey thus far. I have been single for a while now. I’m always on the lookout for a new companion, but fate just hasn’t played along as of late. For whatever reason, I was really beginning to crave the company of a nice female.
A little past Alice Lake, about 6 hours into my hike, I happen stanced across a group of about 6 women from Twin Lakes, ID, a town that I had passed through previously in my travels. They were all educators, enjoying their last few weeks of freedom before the school year began. Naturally, being in the state of mind that I was, I started analyzing the situation. All the while I was holding friendly conversation, mostly about where I was from, what I did for a living, where I was heading, a little about my trip, so on and so forth, as well as listening to what they had to say. We talked for a good 20 minutes, during which time I singled out one lady from the group. She was the most attractive one not wearing a wedding ring that seemed closest to my age. Oddly enough, I don’t think we really talked at all, she was one of the less gregarious ones. We eventually parted ways.
Their destination was Alice Lake, which I had just passed about a mile back. We had a great view of it from the spot that we had stopped to talk. I was glad to have had such friendly conversation in such a remote place of the country, yet, I had this urge to turn around and go camp with them at Alice Lake, an urge which I turned down to trudge along the trail towards my destination for the night.
There are large stretches of trail out there that allow the mind to wander in all directions. During the next few hours, that night before bed, and definitely the next day I thought about those girls and how I had possibly let a good opportunity slip away. THEN, I began to will that opportunity back to me. I kept thinking to myself, ” Man it would so cool if I got back to my truck and they left a note on my windshield to call them!” I can’t tell you how many times this very,very unlikely wishful thought went through my head. On the second day, the hike just got harder and harder as my body fatigued and my mental resolve broke down as the time went by and I didn’t seem to be making the progress I needed to in order to make it back to the car by nightfall.
I eventually did make it back to the car, completely exhausted. I was so beat that I didn’t even think to check my windshield, I just wanted to get out of there and into the nearest town to get a bite to eat. I cranked the car, put it in gear, looked up, and there it was. The note. Unf*#$@! believable I told myself. I got out and read it. I knew right away it was that one girl that had caught my eye. This is what the note read:

Hey, I’m one of the educators you met on the trail. If you’re looking for another adventure come to Challis this weekend for a concert. Rocco is more than welcome. – Sonja ###_###_##### See you at Braun Bros Reunion/Reckless Kelly/ Mickey and the Motorcars.

The next day was Thursday. I was planning to take a day off, spend a little time in Stanley, catch up on emails, and then start heading up north towards Coeur d’ Alene. I really did not think I could swing a trip over to Challis 60 miles east out of the way, and have to wait til Saturday, but damn, this was the very thing I had willed and here I was wanting to decline? I was in a bit of pickle.
I made it to Stanley that evening and had a very nice dinner. Finally having cell reception once more, I called the # on the note and left her a message. The following morning she called me back. They (one of the other women decided to go with her) were in Ketchum but were heading through Stanley around lunch en route to Challis. I told them I would be hanging out that morning anyway and that we could meet up for lunch, but I probably couldn’t go to the show with them.
1pm rolls around and I’m in the library using their internet when all if sudden Sonja appears and asks what would I like to do? ( she had texted me earlier, but I don’t get text on my phone, however, Stanley is a very small town and they saw my truck parked out front and figured I was inside)
We had lunch and a beer at Papa Brunee’s. We chatted and got to know each other a little better. All the while I was thinking about how I wanted my trip to proceed. When it came time to go, I asked who was playing for that night. There happened to be a poster on the door, so she went and read off the names. ” such and such, DALE WATSON, such and such, such and such” is all I really heard. The second that I heard Dale Watson was playing, my mind was made up, and off to Challis we went. First we stopped at one of the several hot springs along the way for a nice soak.
We made it to the music venue, setup camp, and started cooking dinner when I could hear from afar that Dale Watson had started playing. We dropped everything, and ran to the ticket gate to get in ASAP. Lo and behold, there he was, the famous, outspoken, silver Texas rockabilly music legend, Dale Watson, rippin’ it as he always does.
I wasted no time in grabbing Sonja by the hand and teaching her how to Texas Two Step, followed a bit later by a little western swing, some waltz, and some polka, none of which she knew how to do.
Now, Dale is one of my favorite country singers. Most of his work is original, and has a very unique and recognizable attitude. He writes and sings about whatever the hell he wants, and doesn’t give a shit about Nashville. He drinks Lone Star Beer like it’s the fountain of youth (for him, I think maybe it is, because he still looks pretty good for his age). He’s as Texan as it gets. I probably haven’t seen in him perform in 4 years, when I lived in Austin.
It’s one of the most Serendipitous things that has ever happened in my entire life that I just happened to be one day and 60 miles away from where he was playing way the hell up in Challis, Idaho, and even more so that I got invited by a cute girl in the middle of the Sawtooth Wilderness while on a remote backpacking trip. I mean seriously, what are the odds?
Dale put on a rocking show. To make things even better, after his set while Suzy Boggins was playing, Dale walked around to greet fans. I got to chat and drink beer with him, and he obliged for this little photo:

Great guy, that Dale Watson. After Suzy, Mickey and the Motor Cars came on stage and put on a pretty good show as well. Following that, it was back to camp where I got to cuddle this cute teacher from Twin Falls for a bit before crashing hard in the cool summer night under the stars.
The next morning, I was prepared to start heading back to Stanley and getting back on route to Coeur D’ Alene, but yet another spontaneous adventure was in store. The girls had met some new friends the night before who invited them to go rafting on the upper Salmon River, which skirts Challis. I was invited too, plus, I had my own little two person raft, and they were a bit overloaded as is!
The Salmon River is known a monster of river, containing some of the hardest and deadliest rapids in the US, and perhaps the world. This close to the headwaters, however, and this late in the year, it was calm enough that I felt my dinky $90 boat could handle it, and it did. Not only that, it held two people and a dog, and one point, 2 normal size people and 2 drunk overweight people that we had to rescue in a rapids section. I was really surprised at the abuse that boat withstood! Most of the float was a lot of fun. We did go down two rapids that gave me some trouble, but we made it safe and sound. The last half hour or so turned miserable as the temps dropped and it began to rain, and then hail on us pretty hard. No one in the group had prepared for such adverse conditions. We didn’t have a lot of choice but to keep going. By the time we hit the take out, everybody was shivering hard and damn glad to be off the river. A half hour later though, the sun came back out and we were already laughing about that experience as we dried off and warmed back up.
After getting shuttled back to the put in where I was parked, I had to bid farewell to all my new found friends, including Sonja and Kirsten, but damn what a fun little spur this turned out to be. Sonja is pretty cute, we had a blast together, and we have a lot in common, after all, we met in the middle of the wilderness while backpacking. After meeting someone like this, its always natural to wonder “what if…” I’m sure we’ll see each other again, but I don’t think too much will come of this new friendship, but, you never know. I surely didn’t think I’d be getting to see Dale Watson play while on my trip…

I’ve debated sharing this story, and here it is almost two months after it happened, but I feel in these times of rigid routines and the “rat” race mentality that it offers a great reminder to stray from your comfort zone once in a while, and more importantly, that there is indeed cosmic energy in this universe that exists to help you fulfill your desires. You simply have to recognize when it is present and take action to ride that wave. Personally, while I am taking the greatest single leap of faith I have ever taken by starting a Tiny House business, I’d be lying if I said I am without doubt and fear. Experiences like this ground me and remind that where this is a will, there is a way.  Thanks for reading my little story here, I hope you enjoyed it, and that it has opened your spirit to a little extra spontaneity and adventure. Carpe Dieme!

Greg

Quick Note: I am back from my super awesome trip across the Rockies. I’m working on material to share with you, but for now, a little race report.

The Vapor Trail 125 is an endurance mountain bike race that takes place in and around Salida, CO. Among average mountain bike racers, it is virtually unheard of. Among the best of the best, it is legendary. Having successfully completed it this past weekend, I now know why. The stats are well published on the website:

It starts at 10 PM on a bridge over the Arkansas River at 7,000 feet elevation. Participants ride through the night, and most of them through the entire next day never dropping back below 9,000 feet until the last 8 miles. The course draws a large circle through some of the highest mountains in North America. There are multiple high points near or above 12,000 feet. There are six long sustained climbs that each can take 2 hours or more to complete.

It can rain, it can snow, it can be windy and/or cold. The night is always cold in the high country, temps below freezing can be expected for 6 hours or more. There is roughly 20,000 feet of cumulative climbing.

A couple things I might add: “…and 20,000 feet of descending, some of which is absolutely jaw chattering and wrist destroying. It can also be hot the very same day, expect to hike-a-bike several difficult miles, you might be lucky to ride with company, but expect absolute solitude, expect sleep deprivation,” and probably a few other superlatives that are slipping my mind at the moment, probably due to lack of sleep and all the toxic waste in my blood at the moment. Another thing you wouldn’t really know unless you tried to register is that they just don’t let any ‘ole mountain biking cat into this race. You gotta submit credentials, and if they don’t like them, TS. Unlike Leadville or Breck, this field size is kept intentionally small.

I caught wind of this race when Austin friend Vance McMurray said he was going to do it. Since then, it has been in the back of my head. It appealed to me not only from a challenge perspective, but also because of its underground and slightly cult status. It just has this aura about it that I had to experience for myself, and so I did.

The only real expectation I had for this race was to finish, and hopefully before 4pm on Sunday. If I was having a superhuman day, then I might focus on a top 10 finish, but, that was unrealistic knowing that I hadn’t raced in nearly a year, and my fitness was good, but not the best.

Before the race even began, a moderate headache and severe tiredness were bothering me. I hadn’t been sleeping well the week before, and the 3 1/2 drive from Durango that afternoon put me in a state of “Go to bed”, quite the opposite of “go do a grueling 125 mile race in just a little while.” I popped 3 aspirins and a lot of water, which helped a little, but that headache seemed to stick around until about 4 in the morning. The sleepiness only got worse until sunrise came. At several points along the course, I just wanted to curl up in a ball in the woods and go to bed, I pushed on though.

Pushing on is the name of the game in this race. A rider will encounter several hardships, the greatest of which I believe to be mental. The body will no doubt be submitted to great abuse, but it is how the mind reacts to that abuse that will determine the outcome. Having only pre-ridden a small portion of the course, I didn’t know what to expect on portions unridden. I am still cringing just thinking about 2 particular sections that nearly broke down my mental resolve, despite having the physical capacity to overcome them. Anyone who has ridden the course knows that I am talking about the Granite Mtn. hike a bike and the Poncha Creek road climb following the Starvation Creek descent. These aren’t the only two portions of trail that will severely test you, just the two most severe. For me, I was slowly and painfully pushing, carrying, and cursing my bike and body up that steep rock strewn rutted trail at 5am, the coldest part of the day. Luckily I was generating so much heat I didn’t notice the cold, that is, until the summit. Even after putting on every layer that I had, the 10 mile descent down Canyon Creek to the next aid station froze my extremities (still a little wet from the light rain that came down overnight) and cooled my core more than I would have liked. I didn’t care though, because the sun was coming up and I knew there was coffee a few miles ahead, plus, that downhill portion of trail is just a rippin good time, probably my single favorite part of trail in that whole race.

The climb back to Monarch pass sucked, but at least it got me to the Monarch Crest trail, which I had ridden 6 weeks prior and really like too. The dreaded Poncha Creek road climb came shortly after.

Then back up the Poncha Creek Road. Westbound. Back to the Continental Divide once more. A grunting, rocky climb to the divide. Turn your back on the descent to town and a nice hot hamburger. Just forget about that. Go back to climbing up to the spine of the continent.

This again is from the website description. How did they know I would be thinking about shortcutting it to town for a hot hamburger? The road itself is not all that steep, nor technical, but at this point in the race (about mile 92) and whatever time of day it was (it was 93 degrees according to aid station volunteers), that climb seemed to go on forever. Another aspect that really seems to add to the mental suck factor is that from Marshall Pass, you have to descend the Starvation Creek trail (granted, this is a lot of fun) only to have to turn around at the bottom and climb that stupid road back to Marshall Pass. That was a kick in the balls if ever I’ve had one. I knew that I’d be homefree, almost, if I could just crest that effin climb.

I eventually did, and after that I had two small climbs on the Continental Divide Trail and a few more on the Rainbow trail following the bumpy yet classic descent of Silver Creek, and then it was FAST pavement all the way to town. I jammed it into the 32-10, tucked into my aero position, and hauled. The smell of that hot hamburger and taste of post race IPA waiting at the finish gave me energy I didn’t know I had! I even picked up a few spots en route!

Unofficially, I ended up 27th of 66 in 17 hours flat at 3pm. The winner finished at 11am, 4 hours faster! There are some truly amazing athletes who toe the line at this event, and as far as am concerned, it is an honor just to have the privilege and the cajones to do so. To finish is an even greater accomplishment. There is no prize for a podium finish. There are no belt buckles. There is no crowd on main street to cheer you to the finish. There is only the mystique and glory of knowing that you conquered one of the hardest races on earth. As it stands, I consider this to be the most difficult race I have ever completed. I’ve done some grueling 24’s, the San Juan Hut race was pretty epic, but the Vapor Trail has ’em all beat.

This race kicks off my rather late race season this year. I’ve got some grassroots 100 milers coming up and hopefully some cyclocross. Absolutely no 24 hours of Rocky Hill this year. I don’t have the time, money, energy, or desire to do it. I need a break from that place. It would also appear that 24 hour racing might be a thing of the past for me. I’m really digging the adventure and challenge of bikepacking and point to point type racing. Rolling around in circles is a bit silly and monotonous when you think about. Colorado Trail Race, Trans Rockies, Tour Divide thrown in there? Now we’re talkin!

Check back soon and I’ll have some stuff posted about my Rocky Mountain Pilgrimage.
Caveman Greg

The long awaited time has come. With my Tiny House complete, the pole barn done and all setup for action, and a host of other business related tasks put in place, I’m going on vacation! You’d think I’d be ready to start building some Tiny Houses and getting this new business going. I’ve actually been getting some calls and emails from people interested in me building them a Tiny House. I’m super excited about all this, but I’m also excited about this trip that I’ve wanted to take for a while, plus, I feel this trip is in the interest of the company, so it’s win win! I’ve wanted to see the rest of the American Rockies for a while now, not only because of their breathtaking beauty and endless adventure, but also to get some inspiration for more house designs.

So today,  the last day of July, I am departing for Utah. From here, I head north into Idaho where I will spend 10 days or so exploring the natural features and people of this little known state. From there, I cross over into Montana near the Canadian border for 10 days to explore some namesake places such as Glacier, Missoula, Bozeman, Helena, Whitefish, and Butte. From here, it is down to Wyoming to see Yellowstone, the Tetons, and a few other sights. I am taking my bike, the dog, a boat, a backpack, some camping gear, a nice new camera, and a laptop. In my free time in the evenings, I’m going to be working on the Tiny House website and working on some new designs, so the trip won’t be all play and relaxation. I should be back at the end of August. I’ll definitely be back before Sept 7th since there is this little bike ride over in Salida that I’d like to participate in. Thanks for reading. Keep in touch, I’ll post some updates of my whereabouts on the road.

Greg

The latest adventure blew the last one out of the water. Last weekend I had a dog companion who limited my riding distance and climbing technicality. I love Rocco, but I love hardcore adventure too, so he spent the weekend with Laura and her dogs. I’ve been wanting to explore the Wilsons, a tall clump of rocks that are part of the San Miguel mountains, a sub range of the San Juans, located in the Lizard Head Wilderness southwest of Telluride. There are two ranked 14ers, Wilson Peak and Mount Wilson, an unranked 14er, El Diente, and a handful of ranked 13ers including Gladstone (a Colorado centennial peak) and of course the reverent Lizard Head. Saturday afternoon, I couldn’t quite make up my mind how I wanted to get there. I knew I was just going to focus on Wilson Peak since it is the easiest of the mountains, and the final ascent is a Class 3 climb. For you non-mountain folk, that means it is beyond the realm of hiking-you must use your hands to grip, sturdy, and propel yourself up the mountain. However, you probably don’t need ropes and climbing equipment like you do Class 4 or 5 (class 1 is the easiest)

Most of the info I read about the ascent involved using a trailhead to the north that would have required a lot of driving. To me, cars take out a lot of the adventure and reward of a trip. I was more interested in a route that involved more human powered transport. I studied my maps meticulously for a few hours and then decided on a route. I packed the bike and hit the road. My plan was to drive 30 miles north to the ski resort. Drive up Hermosa Creek road towards Bolam Pass until the road became too rough. Here I would ditch the truck and take off on Raji (the bike). It’s all very intriguing when I think about this whole trip, how every mile I progressed took me further and further from people, and the paths became less and less touched, from a perfectly smooth 4 lane concrete road all the way down to an pristine piece of mountainside that likely no one had ever touched but me.

I would crest Bolam pass and locate the East Fork trail, which according to my map, was right off of the pass. While I could see the trail down in a lower valley, I couldn’t find the trail head for it, so I took a leap of faith and started bushriding down a steep grade through the woods in the direction I thought the trail was in. The grade leveled off into a nice wildlfower valley. I crossed a small stream (actually the headwaters of the Dolores River) and picked up the trail on the other side. This East Fork trail was awesome-wild, rugged, remote, difficult, but still ridable. I spooked a large bull Elk and he ran along side me for a bit before darting into the woods. I didn’t see a human until I hit the northern trail head close to Hwy 145. By the the time I hit here, it was getting dark, and I wasn’t too far from where I wanted to be, there were some good primitive camp sites already established, and I was hungry, so I set up camp for the night.

Daylight broke and I mounted my steed once more to continue the adventure. I crossed the highway and hopped on the Cross Mtn. trail. I rode up until it the junction with Groundhog trail, at which point bikes weren’t allowed, so I hid the bike in the woods, did my gear swap, and I was hiking! This trail steadily gained elevation up to a saddle a little above treeline, and below Lizard head peak. It was crazy to think just the day before, I was admiring this unique geologic formation from several miles away at Bolam Pass. It is much larger up close than from a distance!

From the saddle, you have to descend into Bilk Basin. During my descent, I noticed an unmarked trail across the drainage. It appeared that if I could cross the drainage and latch onto that trail, it would save me some distance and elevation loss. My sense of adventure was particularly high this trip, so I ditched the trail, hopped down a gully to the drainage, crossed over, and after some bushwhacking found that trail. So began a mindset that would yield incredible fun, but would get me in a little trouble later…

It was more of a game trail, a bit overgrown and not really manicured, but more my style anyways. My original thinking was that this primitive trail would intersect back with the main trail that heads west from the basin up to the Rock of Ages saddle I needed to reach to complete the ascent. In theory it might have, but in practice, it was easier and more efficient to stay the course and eventually I wasn’t on a trail at all but just going up the mountain navigating grasses, rocks, slabs, waterfalls, and brush. I finally reached an alpine lake whereupon I did pick the main trail back up, but wouldn’t you know it wasn’t well marked or traveled and before I knew it I found myself off trail scrambling up a large nasty scree field. This took me up aways, but obscured my view of the saddle that I was aiming for. The slope became steeper and looser, and I was actually tempted to go up some coilours to the right, but my instinct told me to stay left and aim for the saddle.

This was working fine until I came to a large snowfield that was too deep and steep to cross with my hiking gear, so I had to go up and around it. I was now on very steep and loose Class 4 scree. It’s actually the most scared I’ve been in any of my mountain ascents. I took my time and my movements were very deliberate. I aimed for lines that had big rocks I knew wouldn’t slide, but this wasn’t always an option. Things only got worse as the terrain intensified. At one point, a section of rock broke free and began sliding, with me in it. Luckily, it only slid about 10 feet before coming to a stop and I just had to dig my feet out of some rocks. While I wish I’d never got myself in that situation, I’m glad I did, so I know how to avoid it in the future!
Reaching that saddle was out of the question now, since I was already high above it, so I focused my efforts on traversing to the left in hopes of hitting the established traverse up to the peak. What a sigh of relief I let out when I finally found it!  This traverse was just as steep, but not nearly as loose.  I came to a false summit, and then the real fun began! From that point, you have to free climb down 30 feet or so and then free climb up 150 feet to the summit! No rope, no climbing partner, but as long as you take your time, no problem! I actually prefer a good climb to the top over a peak that you can hike straight up to.

The view was incredible. I have pictures, but they don’t even come close to the magic of this place. The lighting was magical this particular day, owing to rain clouds moving in that were about to give me concern on the way down, but also because of the shape of the outlying mountains and the huge variety of colors, everything from bright green grass, forest green forest, red, yellow, brown, and gray rocks, and some blue from a few alpine lakes in sight. It is my new favorite peak. I ate some jerky and trail mix while giving thanks for a safe summit and all my blessings, then began the journey back down.

I was able to take the “real” trail back down to the saddle this time, and from here was able to find a route much easier than the first one. I wasn’t really on the trail, which wasn’t really obvious at this elevation, but the terrain was easier. I finally did find the trail again at that alpine lake and used it for a brief bit when I decided it wasn’t to my liking and once again began blazing my own path towards another trail way down that I could see. This descent was bomber as I more or less jumped down the mountain navigating rocks and vegetation. I crossed a waterfall and was back on the game trail that brought me in, and from here it was all reverse.

The big difference was that a storm was rolling in, along with some lighting. I had dipped back into treeline, but only for a short while as my route require crossing that stupid saddle at the base of Lizard Head. I picked up the pace, running when it wasn’t too steep. The apex was reached and I definitely ran down all the way back to trees. From there, it was a few more miles of descending to my bike. The lighting died down, but the rain picked up. Even though I had a rain jacked, I still seemed to be getting wet, and I was losing body heat. I found my bike safe and sound, swapped gear, and rode back to camp.

When I got there, a nice gentleman offered me a beer. I considered this peace offering for a second, but what I really needed was some coffee, and asked if he had any of that instead. Turns out he and his fiance did, and they were happy to help me out. They were part of a group of four Durangotans out mountain biking that day, so we talked bikes, Durango, and Tiny Houses for a while I savored my hot beverage. My buzz was almost instant. I bid them ado and hit the road. I decided to take the highway back down to Hermosa Creek road and ride to Bolam Pass this way. It would add some distance, but I wasn’t ready to take my chances on the East Fork trail with all the rain that had just come through. Once off the highway, the first 5 of 7 miles were fast! That coffee really got my heart rate up. So much so, I was hot and losing sweat. Every creek crossing I came to  I had to stop and refill water.

The last 2 miles were slow and tough. The fatigue of the days efforts began to really set in. I finally crested, cooled off, and began the descent back towards the truck. It creeping up towards 8pm at this point, so the temps were dropping. Coupled with all the sweat in my shirt and shorts and not having to pedal anymore, I got cold once again. I could’ve stopped to layer up, but I knew I was on the homestretch at this point so I toughed it out for another 15 minutes or so. I was happy to see little grey parked where I left her, not only because no one had messed with her, but also because I was freezing and freaking exhausted. So ended the best adventure I’ve had this year.