Sounds of Sunday
7.30.07
Spent the weekend in Crested Butte, CO mountain biking with Leo, Greg, and co. What an absolutely incredible place. A bit off the beaten path, the Crested Butte is a mountain in it's own right, but the town and surrounding area lies in a beautiful valley with only a single road leading in. We entered via Cottonwood Pass, which is only open a few months a year, but at least provided a more direct route from Summit County. The valley is lush and green, with rolling hills right out of the Sound of Music. No beetle kill and no drought here.
The boys introduced me to some serious mountain biking - well above my ability level - but as exhilarating as it was terrifying. Our first ride was the legendary 401. As I told people I was heading to the Butte all week, the first thing I heard was "401" "401" "401". And for good reason. After a 6 or 7 mile climb up a mellow road, we turned onto a steep muddy singletrack. As I huffed, puffed, and pushed my bike up the hill, the forest gave way to beautiful meadows with tall grass and a smattering of wildflowers. I couldn't enjoy the scenery as I struggled upwards until we finally created the mountain and began the downhill. A narrow path cut its way through handlebar deep wildflowers, skunk cabbage, and unruly grass as we wound our way full speed down the mountain. As we descended into tree line, wildflowers gave way to bright aspens, and we switchbacked down the thousands of feet we had just acended. I tumbled, endo-ed, cursed, and grumbled my way down the mountain - but for every trip over the handlebars I had a few thousand feet of smooth, narrow singletrack and a wide smile on my face.
Sorry no photos of the actual biking. I had a hard enough time keeping up with my rockstar friends, let alone time to photograph. This shot was taken just off Main St. in historic Crested Butte.
View more photos in these collections:
Colorado - Architecture - Abstract
