Is it my sunglasses making everything so beautiful, or am I in love?
This is what I was wondering as I gazed across the blossoming summer fields of the Wasatch Mountains from 9000 feet of elevation, clutching the handlebars of a 5.7 Pivot mountain bike that company reps were encouraging me to borrow and ride. I wasn’t even exhausted from climbing because there wasn’t any – I rode the ski lift.
It’s easy to be in love with Park City, Utah. It’s just difficult to determine from where exactly my bliss began. Was it the buffalo burger I ate last night, garnished with chipotle mayonnaise and jalapenos, accompanied by a high-gravity, locally crafted beer? Was it sleeping through the morning without being snatched from my coveted slumber by the screeches of a frustrated 3-year-old? Perhaps it was the delightful cup of coffee made in a cozy bookshop. Or maybe even the new ultra cool cowboy shirt for riding that I bought from a guy in Idaho who started an apparel company called Club Ride. Maybe it was being surrounded by beautiful biking boys, tattooed, scarred and grinning through a veil of sweat and mountain grime. It could have even been the way the clouds floated across the sky, raining on nearby ranges.
We are at Bike Dealer’s Camp, which is a much more fun and relaxed version of Inter Bike – the yearly bike convention held in Las Vegas, of all places. I mean, really, nobody can even ride a bike there without heat stroke. But here…there are bikes for nearly everyone, and trails that make you giggle or bleed, depending on how you read the map. Tomorrow will be a road ride on a Cervelo or Felt and another downhill scare on something a little more like a lazyboy on wheels.
The first time down the peak was on an intermediate trail that wound its way down tight trails of sage, peppered with large rocks – every turn sprinkled with loose scree, rendering the rear brake useless for anything more than skidding. It alternated between open fields of purple thistle and tall stands of Aspen. The challenge was keeping the six inches of front travel from diving in and out of the turns, and keeping a good flow through the mental game of fear that coming off of the narrow trail will result in a lonnnnnng and bumpy tumble down the steepest bits.
The next time down we braved the double black diamonds, wanting to see the bike’s full potential. We ignored the sign cautiously advising us to wear full-face helmets and pads and dropped into a crevice filled with loose babyheads and three foot drops followed by hairpin turns and pointy boulders. I immediately crashed and could barely disentangle myself from the bike without plunging further into the crevice. In fact, being stuck to the bike is probably what saved me from further demise involving the EMS – who had already been busy that afternoon (imagine, a mountain valley filled with bikers trying to prove themselves on somebody else’s bikes). Humiliation rode in my Camelbak as I picked my way down the cleft, sliding more than walking. I carried, rather than pushed, the bike so as not to scratch it up and found myself grabbing the brakes as my feet slid. Brilliant. Imagine my relief when the trail flattened a bit and gave at least ten feet between rocky drops. It remained to be a highly technical and narrow trail spattered with roots, drops, ledges, and rollers – a perfect combination for a very fun ride. I picked my way through, cleaning most of it due to the thought of having to carry the bike again. It was far more dangerous to walk than ride. It made me laugh, and I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow. My evening shower revealed only a slight wound on my right butt cheek and thigh.
The day concluded with the Dirt Grand Prix, even as the rain clouds found their way to the racing field. There weren’t enough Polygamy Pale Ales to keep us warm enough to watch all of the races. It was great fun watching Katerina Nash, of Luna Chix Pro Team, annihilate her competitors, lapping two of them. Amy Dombroski, her only real competition, flatted her cross bike after only a handful of laps. She fixed her wheel, drank the beer I handed her, and decided to race with the men. I was heading into the hot shower as she was lining up in the cold, windy rain. She’s nearly 15 years younger than I am, and I want to be like her when I grow up.
I’m going to put on these same sunglasses tomorrow.