I had a faint idea of the route I wanted to take, but because it’s (sort of) winter, we were short on time if we didn’t want to have to break out our lights. Pretty much, take the Highline Canal to Chatfield all the way to the dam in Waterton Canyon and then back. When I finally got home from the hour-long drive from volunteering at the Longmont CX race, I had to quickly eat and prep my bike.
I plugged in some lights, so in the worst-case scenario, I could use the little charge I had to see the last bit home. Then I felt the tires and one was completely flat. Not a surprise, seeing as I’ve been on Zwift mostly outside of Zwift, I’ve been on the mountain bike. There was one day I did road, but honestly, I wasn’t super enthused.
I remember trying mountain biking the first time and at the end, saying, “Roadie for life,” and while I’ll never stop riding my road bike, I prefer finding trails between trails.
What I really enjoy about gravel and mountain biking is that there are rarely people around, especially at 1:30 PM during the “winter.” During the summer, it’s harder to find isolated areas, but it still beats having cars zip by you at 40 MPH, barely giving you an arm’s length of space.
If I’m going to be sandwiched between anything, make it trees.
As we rode down the Highline Canal, I remembered we had to find a way across Santa Fe — a very busy road. Luckily, Brittney had been on this trail before and said we could go under the bridge. I had zero idea there was a bridge underneath Santa Fe, let alone there was once a river flowing down there. We dropped onto what was once a riverbed and rode through the tunnel, out the other side.
This is one of my top reasons I like to ride with others, especially friends like Brittney, who like to explore and show me new trails or secret tunnels.
Speaking of exploring, as we pedaled into Chatfield, Brittney pointed out a path she always wondered where it led to. Now, I’m not normally one to go off-course, but I knew we wouldn’t be able to do the route I wanted with the fast-descending sun and dropping temps.
Besides, this ride was purely to have fun (I decided). I wasn’t going to hit watts. I was going to hang out with my friend on two wheels.
We started passing the turnoff for the unknown dirt trail, and I asked Brittney if she wanted to “fuck around and find out” where the trail led to. She enthusiastically said, “yes!” so we turned around and went exploring. Half a mile later, we ran into a pond. It was deep enough to soak my feet if I walked and rocky enough that I didn’t trust my handling skills enough to pedal through it.
As we turned around, Brittney saw a path that suggested this was how others got around the pool of water. There was a little hike-a-bike over boulders and streams, but we made it to the connecting trail.
There were parts of this route I’d never been on and that’s always exciting.
So exciting that I didn’t care about the loose sand. I got to test my skills, which always need a good shining.
It made me think about the first time I rode through sand—when Jared and I previewed the Rio Grande course. I remember death-gripping the handlebars, out of a false sense of security. I remember thinking there was no way I’d do well in that bike race since I couldn’t figure out how to pedal and keep my front wheel straight.
I guess it’s good that I’ve always enjoyed trying new things and pushing myself out of my comfort zone.
That ½ mile (or maybe a mile?) of dirt took nearly 20 (15? 10?) minutes to get through. I remember saying to Jared, “Fuck this,” and “Who puts a dirt road in a road race.” I was so angry at the Race Director, not to mention women weren’t getting paid out the same as men.
The second time I rode the course, I was with a different team. They looked confident and natural navigating the dirt. It embarrassed me I couldn’t keep up. I assumed I’d end up in DFL come race day. That was 5 or 6 years ago. And while I’m no Alison Tetrick, I can at least handle my own in the sand.
I was relaxed. Something that doesn’t come naturally to me.
While we rode through the parts of the route unknown to me, like Anthony Bourdain in an off-camber village in France, I couldn’t help but feel a little touristy. Realizing I don’t have to go far out of my way to discover something new. I wasn’t death-gripping the handlebars. I wasn’t trying to find pavement. I was relaxed. Something that doesn’t come naturally to me.
It’s clear to me why I’m drawn to the bike, just like an artist moves toward the canvas, or my husband gravitates towards his computer to play League of Legends for hours on end. It’s an escape within reality.
You’re fully present in what you’re doing—whether that’s yelling at the screen because a virtual teammate let you die or blissfully throwing blue and black and gold acrylics against a canvas, or riding your pink gravel bike down a sandy trail for the first time.
At the same time, you’re completely out of touch with what’s going on outside your little escape bubble. The joy of riding dirt trails isn’t only because of the potential for adventure, or the isolation, or speeding up to slow down, but the temporary escape that so many of us crave.
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