Waterton Revisited; Ink

Monday I didn't just have an adventure; I had damn near a Perfect Day.

The plan was Waterton Canyon again, not because I couldn't wait to get back but because it's closing August 1 for two years. I invited Ryan, but he's busy trying to sell his condo while he moves back in with John; I know, he's worse than a chick. I think he's going to spend the rest of his life banging his head against John's wall. Whoops, just made a double entendre there.

So back to Waterton. It was as beautiful as I remembered it three weeks ago. Those bighorn sheep that were only blurry dots on my first photo series were now strolling up and down the road like hikers, almost close enough to touch.

The trip up seemed to take half the time without Ryan and his pit stops. Instead of turning around at the dam, this time I continued up the mountain. Again, pushing Rojo (Deer Creek flashbacks taunting me all the while), but not nearly as far. I reached the trailhead, where it continued on to the Colorado Trail for another ten miles. That way looked a bit more like Deer Creek, so I turned back.

This was the way up

And the way down. My choice was clear

I actually rode Rojo down a rocky incline that would have looked like a suicide mission if I hadn't seen Deer Creek in the interim. I let her take the rocks and bumps she was designed for, and it felt pretty good. I didn't go over the handlebars, at least. I was pretty proud of myself.

I was getting hungry so I stopped at this little picnic table on the South Platte for an energy bar. Not another soul in sight, and no sound but the rushing water. It was peace personified.

More Facebook style self-portraints

I was sad when I returned to the parking lot, ready to say goodbye for two whole years. Then I noticed a path exiting the lot from the opposite side, the path Ryan and I almost took mistakenly the first time. I figured it just led to nearby Chatfield Park, which is as large as and very similar to Cherry Creek, but decided to check it out anyway.

Boy, was I wrong. It does lead to Chatfield eventually, but before that was just pure FUN. All the fun that was missing from Deer Creek was evidently stored here.

What it led to was called the Audubon Discovery Loop, or something. In plain English, it was miles and miles and miles of dirt singletrack weaving through woods and meadows and alongside the South Platte. I never thought I liked singletrack, but that was based on one experience where it was full of lots of switchbacks (the trail cuts back on itself again and again in sharp, difficult to maneuver turns) and the path was literally only as wide as the tire.

This was gorgeous singletrack, only wide enough for one bike, but wide enough for a less experienced rider. It meandered through woods and underbrush, in some places so overgrown you couldn't even see the trail underneath, in others wide and clear where the biggest obstacle was piles of horse crap. Mostly level and non-strenuous, occasionally cresting over steeper embankments and down again, sometimes veering so close to the river that one wrong move would pitch you into the water.

YES

What does this remind me of? Oh right, New England. Without the 103% humidity

It felt like riding a rollercoaster, only I was driving. I felt Rojo's mountain bike heart swell with joy beneath me as we coasted over rocks and tree roots. THIS is the reason to own a mountain bike. It was challenging enough to give me a sense of accomplishment without ever making me feel like it was more than I could handle. Well, almost:

If I've learned one thing, it's that when they need to build something to make it usable for pedestrians, that's probably a good spot to turn around

Riding through the dense underbrush, couldn't see more than a foot in front of me, I broke through and suddenly saw the path ending here. Thank god Rojo's brakes are up to snuff

Stress doesn't exist out there. I spent about two hours in those woods, and never once thought about how I only have $22 until next payday, or all my medical bills, or anything; literally the only thing you CAN think about is which direction the path is turning and what you need to do to stay on it. Talk about clearing your mind -- it just happens automatically.

I also didn't see a single other person, which goes a long way towards my sense of peace.

If anyone makes plans to visit me at any point, better brush up on your biking skills, because a visit to this trail will certainly be on the agenda.

At one point the path suddenly became paved, and I felt resentment at this reminder of civilization. But I was also starting to get really hungry and thirsty, so thought I should head back. I had about half a bottle of water, but there are no filling stations out there and, contrary to Coors commercials, mountain streams and rivers are prime breeding ground for nasty bacteria like Giardia -- water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.

Then I started having a bit of a problem. I had been riding pretty aimlessly, down whatever trail looked the most inviting. I had no idea how to get back, and my phone with GPS and Google Maps was in my glove compartment (lesson for next time). Emerging from the trees gave me a view of the mountains, which helped -- one of the things I love about Denver, it's impossible to stay lost as long as you can see those Rockies (if you're IN the Rockies it might be a different story). I eventually made it back (obvs), but it was a little touch and go there for awhile.

The good news is this trail will probably not be closed, since there's no getting heavy equipment in there. I hope it isn't, because I literally feel like I could ride nowhere else the rest of the summer and be perfectly content.

I got home, had a lovely lunch with a generous helping of sugary beverages (my body craves sugar something powerful after these rides), and a long, cool shower (my legs were so uniformly covered in dirt you could see my sock line as if it were a tan).

(Speaking of tan, this seems like a good place for a segue. I had all but finished the bottle of sunscreen I'd had for two years now (never got much use before this summer). That was SPF 50, which Tery mocked me enough for. When I shopped for a new one, they were fortunately on sale and I got a BOGO on a Banana Boat spray -- SPF 85.

Tery had some choice analogies for that. "SPF 85 is a flannel shirt. It's SPF Robert Smith. SPF 85 is sitting in your parents' basement playing Farmville." She can laugh. I'm not out there to get a tan. The sun's a killer these days.)

I thought this had been The Perfect Day. Then I decided to give this movie a try recommended by metatronis, Ink. Cut for heavy spoilers and length, but don't be fooled: this is my new favorite movie. When you come visit, expect to see this too.

( ::Ink:: )

I abbreviated some parts because otherwise you'd have no reason to see the movie for yourself. And see it you should. It's an indie low budget, went straight to DVD, but I'd say is better than most of the movies that will be in theaters this year. The effects were impressive on so little money, the visuals dazzling and unique. My thought was "Finally, something NEW." But more importantly, the story is complex and beautiful, open to many levels of interpretation (most of which are being hotly debated as we speak at IMDb), including some pretty strong religious allegory without ever mentioning anything overtly. The two leads, Christopher Soren Kelly and Quinn Hunchar, really made you care about their characters. The music is haunting and deeply moving, not unlike the Amelie soundtrack.

Written, directed AND scored by Jamin Winans. Unless I'm very far off, he'll be going places, mark my words.

I can't even say how much I loved this movie, so if anyone sees/has seen it and feels otherwise, I'd rather not know about it. I freely wept at the ending, and announced to Tery that I might as well go to bed that instant (it was 7 pm) because I had had The Perfect Day and it just couldn't possibly get any better from there (I was right, but I stayed up anyway).