Elk Meadow Park

I'm a woman of my word, so to Elk Meadow I did go this weekend.

This was based on a YouTube video of rolling meadows and fairly wide dirt paths with few rocks. And this is probably what I would have gotten, if I hadn't felt adventurous and decided to try the Bergen Trail up the mountain. Bergen Peak is kind of a big deal in these parts, or at least I had heard of it before becoming this outdoorsy type, so I thought while I was there I should see what the fuss was about.

So I climbed. At first the trail didn't look that daunting and I thought I'd be okay. You would think I had learned my lesson at Deer Creek about trails that start out innocent and alluring, only to bite you in the ass once you're in their clutches. I hadn't.

The trail was a bitch. The trees were beautiful though. Untouched photo

Soon it became rockier and steeper. Soon after that I noticed there was a little mini Wall of Shame every 50 feet or so. The problem was in between these were gorgeous stretches of path that beckoned me to ride, so at first I did. But inevitably I got tired of the on again off again and stuck to mostly walking. Today was going to be an arm workout day after all.

Mini Wall of Shame

The trail was built in a zig-zag formation up the mountain, with sharp switchbacks at either end that would have been difficult if I were actually riding. I toiled away determinedly, telling myself that making it to the top would reward me not only with hopefully spectacular views (the park map claimed you could see Pike's Peak and the Continental Divide), but would let me loop down the other side so I wouldn't have to go back over some of the truly ugly-looking rock pits behind me.

I congratulated myself for striking on this secret motivation -- the trick was obviously to make turning around an even less appealing prospect than pushing onward.

It was at least peaceful and perfectly quiet up there. The only wildlife I saw were large dragonfly-like insects whose whirring wings made a loud metallic sound not unlike the smoke monster on "Lost." That was the only sound apart from crunching pine needles under my feet and my ragged breathing.

My heart leaped with hope when I turned a switchback and saw for the first time blue sky above me rather than still more trees. Could it be the top? Well that wasn't so bad.

Bergen Trail: Lies and Deceit

I came upon a clearing overlooking the valley, a gorgeous view. The problem was there was a guy sitting there already enjoying it. I felt uncomfortable disturbing him, so I just took a swig of water and prepared to leave again. We chatted briefly -- I told him I hoped I was near the top, and my plan to pick up the discouragingly named Too Long Trail down the other side. He had never been on Too Long, but did know the Bergen Trail got worse before it got better from our point. He wished me luck and I told him to enjoy his day. People on this side of town seem so much nicer than on the side I live on. Or perhaps that's because I only see them recreating and relaxed.

At this point the path looked smoother again, and again I felt like maybe I could manage it. It didn't appear all that steep, but it must have been because I just couldn't get enough momentum going to mount the bike. It didn't help that one side of the path was a sheer drop-off through the tree line, making that slightly wobbly stage before you find your balance a bit terrifying.

I noticed my friend from the clearing was now hiking up behind me. I imagined he was watching me and wondering if I'd ever ridden a bike before. I opted for a pit stop to eat a granola bar and let him pass me, rather than have him behind me as I staggered around like a newborn foal.

He stopped to chat briefly again, and we were both passed by another biker -- this guy obviously was a bit more experienced, since he breezed right by us, not even breaking a sweat, said "hello" and wasn't even out of breath. I watched in awe, but was encouraged that even he stopped and walked at the mini Walls.

Soon my hiking friend left me in the dust and I was alone again. I had passed a few more hikers and bikers, mysteriously none of whom knew anything about the Too Long Trail. I came up again on an open spot with a view and took some photos:

This is actually my favorite shot, also untouched

Just like at Waterton Canyon, this was about the spot I decided wisdom was the better part of valor and I should turn back. Three things prompted this: a) I had finished off my first bottle of water, could have happily downed the second in one gulp but had no idea how much farther I needed to go, b) I started feeling ominous stomach cramps, the kind that make you look desperately for the nearest restroom, which of course there are none up on the mountain. Sure, I could pop a squat (ugh, I hate that saying), but I had nothing for toilet paper and only a passing knowledge of the exact protocol one needed to follow to respect the environment, and c) I actually did go up a little farther and it showed every sign of getting more difficult, not less. Also more trees, so no indication how close I actually was to the top. It might have been around the next bend or a mile away.

So, ugly rock pits or not, I realized I had to turn back.

Fortunately the downhill was a lot easier than I expected (except for the Walls and pits), and my cramps disappeared. I remembered my promise to let Rojo taste some rocks and actually stopped very few times -- not that going over those rocks was fun, at all. I again stood on the pedals, seized the bars in the Deer Creek Deathgrip, and whispered "Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, oh Jesus" the whole time. REALLY surprised I didn't get a flat, because there's definitely an art to finding that clear path through (called "threading," as in a needle, and most of the time that's a pretty apt analogy) and, dear readers, yours truly has a way to go to master it.

I now know why they're called the Rockies -- because I hit damn near every single one on the way down. I hit one rock so hard my camera literally flew out of my bag and down the drop-off a few feet. Obvs I was able to retrieve it, but DAYUM. Glad I noticed before getting down to the bottom.

It was on this trip I learned there's a third option besides careening madly and coming to a grinding halt -- it's called "dabbing," when you put down a foot for some stability or as a deflector shield. It's a matter of pride for hard-core riders to avoid doing it, or ride a trail "clean," but pride sometimes takes a back seat to just wanting to be done with it and back to the easy meadow trail that I originally signed on for. I dabbed the hell out of that trail, and I don't care who knows it.

It was with enormous relief I made it back to Meadow View Trail. I knew the way back to the parking lot, but did I go that way? Of course not. Forgotten were my stomach cramps and my dwindling water supply. I wanted to explore some more.

I at least resisted the urge to take the Elk Ridge Trail when it crossed my path, partly because it would have been a shorter trip back to the lot but also because I'm becoming wary of routes named after animals, which seem to be more difficult. The map described Elk Ridge as having an 11% grade of a climb. I had gotten my fill of climbing for the day.

The final leg of Meadow View also had its share of ugly rock pits, the difference was they were surrounded by meadow so I didn't feel the stress of possibly going over the edge if I hit a rock the wrong way. Still, I wasn't done taking the good lord's name in vain just yet, evidently. I made it back to the parking lot unscathed, however.

There actually is a meadow in Elk Meadow Park

The first thing I did once back in my car was drive to the nearest McDonald's, for the first time since my ER visit, and order up a super size orange Hi-C with extra ice, one of the few things on their menu that won't land me back in the ER. I drank half that puppy in my first swig. THIRSTY. And GOD, it was heaven. Remember my body craves sugar almost as much as liquid after these rides.

I came home to the pleasant surprise of the arrival of "Bike Repair and Maintenance for Dummies," care of my sugar mama kavieshana, who heard my none-too-subtle hints and took pity on me. It couldn't have come at a better time either; I rode Rojo to the package lockers and she sounded really cranky (pun intended) after the beating I gave her.

Yesterday I cleaned and lubed the chain, and what a difference -- my ride today was smooth as silk and whisper quiet, like a new bike. And working on my bike myself, despite being a filthy job, was extremely satisfying.

What I learned this week:

• No matter how badly you may want it, don't drink your water until you absolutely NEED to. Except it's virtually impossible to distinguish which your body is telling you.

• Stay off trails named after animals.

• And trails going up a mountain.

• I learned how to dab like a pro, or, I guess, like an amateur.

• When you come visit me, you will NOT be subjected to this trail.

• I learned how to change my own oil (ooh, sounds dirty)

• McDonald's orange Hi-C is the nectar of the gods.

ADDENDUM: Some of the more observant among you might notice I'm wearing the same shirt on all my adventures. This is because it's the best one I have with "moisture wicking" technology and keeps me the coolest. When I hit a breeze it feels like I have nothing on at all, it's so sheer. I'd love more, but good ones (like this one, made by Adidas) aren't cheap. I wear a size large if anyone needs gift ideas. That is all.