Lair o' the Bear, I mean Mt. Falcon Park

Before we get to this week's post, I forgot to mention that driving home from the 6.3 millllllllllllllion dollar Parade of Homes, we actually passed a DMC DeLorean on the road. It was pretty exciting, though probably not to you, and probably not now a week later, but it's far too late to put it back in the post where it belongs.

~*~

Another adventure this weekend, and I daresay it might be my last of the season. This summer has been like a microcosm of life: I started out young, full of vigor and energy, curiosity and excitement. Now I feel old and tired, and all I can think about is lying on the couch watching my stories.

I went to Lair o' the Bear, just because Gerry thought I wouldn't like it -- human nature I guess, tell someone they shouldn't do something and that's all they'll want to do. At least I think it was Lair o' the Bear; I didn't see a single sign labeling it as such, and the trailhead started at Mt. Falcon Park.

As I unloaded in the lot, I saw a couple of guys preparing to hike the trail. I must read too much slash fiction, I simply can't imagine two men climbing a mountain without a plan to have sex; particularly when one guy is an older, skanky-looking dude that smoked and loudly hawked up spit balls, and the other a young studly type.

I'll never know since I never saw them again once I got underway (I don't consider this a bad thing). The trail almost immediately diverged into Castle Trail and Turkey Trot Trail -- I took the latter because it sounded and looked a lot easier.

It was really nice, uphill but shady and not too rocky.

I passed a couple of hikers, one of which muttered "wrong way" to me -- I laughed nervously, not sure what he meant, until Turkey Trot reunited with Castle and I saw this sign:

God DAMMIT

I thought the dirt seemed strangely free of other bike tracks. It also sucked because I was really looking forward to going back down some of the nicer-looking sections. Mostly I just hate the feeling of pissing all over nature (not literally, obviously) and breaking rules without realizing it.

So I continued on Castle, a much rockier, steeper climb -- seems a bit unfair the hikers get the nicer trails, but whatev. At one point it was so rocky and steep I gave up trying to ride and just pushed. It was hot, dusty, thoroughly unpleasant, but I couldn't resist the lure up ahead where the path appeared to disappear into the tree line.

I reached it at last, though it was still too steep to ride; however, not having the sun pounding down on me made all the difference. I was passed by a couple of bikers, men in top condition powering through with their granny gears. They were so single-minded on going up that they didn't even see this pretty doe standing five feet to the side:

I didn't see any bears, Irish or otherwise. The nationality of this doe is uncertain

The second guy said something about "Almost there!" as he huffed past. Almost where? I wondered. I didn't have to wait long to find out. The trail soon crested onto a peak, where it turned wide and smooth and lovely. Up here were meadows and benches and observation points and happy couples walking hand in hand, dogs cavorting, sun shining, birds singing. Does every hellish mountain trail have this Shangri-La sitting at the top?

Pictured: Shangri-La

In a way, this mountain was also a microcosm of life: You have to work hard and sweat and suffer to get to the sweet meadows and cool breezes at the top. Or is that pushing the metaphor a bit?

It also had a historic monument I was unaware of, the Walker Home Ruins -- John Brisben Walker was one of the first settlers in Colorado, and built a palatial mansion on this peak, which unfortunately was struck by lightning and burned down shortly after his wife died.

He apparently also had a vision to build a summer home for US presidents, as well as Red Rocks Amphitheater (only one of which was realized after his death). Pretty cool.

As I came up the hill to the Ruins, I was greeted by a trio of hikers in their 40s or 50s, and to my astonishment one of the women started applauding me. I imagine I looked quite heroic indeed on this rare occasion of actually riding up the mountain, but I told them honestly I had walked 3/4 of the way. "We didn't see you walking," the woman said. "Go you!"

Having come all this way, I decided to explore a bit, despite really, really wanting to just head home. I climbed a little farther to Eagle Eye Shelter and enjoyed the view from there.

Save tonight//fight the break of dawn//come tomorrow//tomorrow I'll be gone

Beyond that I raced down some sweet singletrack to Meadow Trail. I started to head back down the mountain, but was distracted by Walker's Dream, which I first thought was a description of the trail but soon put two and two together and deduced that it would lead to an overlook of Red Rocks. I was correct.

This was also the site of the intended summer home.

Make yourself at home, Mr. Obama

At this point the sun had noticeably changed position (note to self: buy a watch before next summer), so I determinedly headed down. Funny, it took me probably 60-90 minutes to get up the mountain, and only about 20-30 minutes to get back down. More enjoyable, except my hands are still stiff from clenching those handlebars. However, I'm pleased to report that I "cleaned" most of the trail, only stopping and walking once or twice.

Didn't dab once!

Some wildlife:

"Did you see the name of the park? I'm the falcon, bitch."

Dead salamander. The falcon is pleading the fifth

Sadly, I did get a flat, my first in the mountains. I went over a bump and suddenly heard loud hissing behind me. At first I thought I had disturbed a rattlesnake and it was chasing me, which is absurd. Then I realized it was Thorny, my rear tire. I had noticed the valve was gradually tilting at the wrong angle all season (should be perpendicular to the tire, as of today it was at about 45 degrees). It hit one bump too many and the valve broke off.

I was actually within sight of the parking lot (which doesn't mean a lot with the switchbacks that zig-zag back and forth down the hill), and I was damned if I was walking down the mountain the way I had walked up. So I changed it, and was thankful I knew how (had never changed a tube before this summer). Two guys passed me, asked if I was okay, and went their merry way when I answered yes; contrary to MyFriendDeb's belief that men insist on helping weak, powerless damsels in distress (to her annoyance). I'd like to think I don't appear particularly helpless. Or maybe I'm just not blond enough.

The funniest thing is not five minutes previously I had passed a "patrol volunteer" pedaling up the hill. I wish I had asked for a photo, the guy was bedecked with toys and figurines stuck all over his helmet. I actually said, "Look at you all...dolled up." You just don't expect to see that kind of thing (although recently I have toyed with the idea (pun intended) of making a Devil Duckie hood ornament for Rojo).

I made it back to my car, and thus ended this adventure. It might also be the last for my trusty Adidas shoes; I gave in to a Labor Day sale and got a pair of Bearpaws (never heard of them) for $20 (on sale from $50, but they feel like $20). Given the fact they made my feet go numb after four hours at the hospital, I didn't think they were ready to climb a mountain just yet.

ADDENDUM: A quick Google search revealed to me that this, in fact, was NOT Lair o' the Bear, but indeed Mt. Falcon Park. It was a quick Google search that gave me my original (and I realize now, faulty) directions to the park, so there's that. Maybe NEXT week will be my last adventure.