Photos and Words: Locke Hassett, 2016
Pentax K1000, Ektar 100
Cool air descended down the drainages like water through sand. As it met with the warm, relatively moist air from the valley, electricity and moisture began to condense from this confluence. The same thing happened on our arm hairs. It always amused me that the same physical feelings elicited by an emotion can often times cause said emotion when produced by an environment.
We had just pulled the last bit of elasticity from the ski strap on the bike rack and turned the key over when this conundrum of electricity began. We felt it on our skin; maybe from the dark clouds to the North over the plateau, or maybe from our excitement to move. But we felt it nonetheless. The 6 pistons in the Volvo however, were not experiencing the same. We wandered for a moment, searching for a jump. After finding one, the car managed to start on it’s own.
The walk gave us ample time to analyze our present situation. We had planned on a gravel ride to the north west of Fruita, Colorado, into a the book cliffs which falloff of the Colorado Plateau like fingers across a page. The storm that cooled our skin and pelted us with fat raindrops and hailstones from its leading edge was forming over just that area
We decided to stay in the valley that day. We resupplied, ate well, and then returned to the hills to ride bicycles in the sunset. As we straightened derailleur hangers and swapped tires on our klunker while blasting music and enjoying czech liqueur, we realized that we had made the right decision. The storm had cleared off by now and the light was less harsh. We set out to ride.
The flow and challenge given by the trails in Fruita are mirrored in their story. Weaving through water paths and juniper trees or over rocks near exposed ledges, they never prove to be a mild story. Forged from desire to create something from the ground up, one feels a sense of passion in their intentional curves, and trial in the most technical sections.
Though in all of them, one feels more than anything, a desire for momentum.
This drive carried us through the prairie, and into the foothills where the storm that brought electricity to our skin formed earlier. It brought us to a rounded ridgeline, that fell away from the plateau as a finger falls from a hand. As we crested the ridge, and looked upon the ribbons of singletrack flowing downward to the valley bottom and the Colorado river, to the cows, the beer, and the smiles of town, the sun dropped with 12 hour finality behind the horizon. Silhouettes of possibility dotted the landscape with their shadows, and we paused for a moment to fully understand what beauty surrounded us before indulging in the rapture of pure intuition.
And then we sleep.
We began to ride North, along a gravel road on which we saw one truck for 24 hours. Other inhabitants of this canyon saw us undoubtedly. The cows knew of us for sure, and the birds and rabbits most likely appreciated the bits of avocado and seeds from bagels that traced our route. Stopping for food has always proven to be a lasting way to bond with a place. Few poor things can be said about water to drink and a tree to sit under and eat.
We had intended to reach Echo Lake, a small lake located at the end of a canyon, not far past an abandoned ranch. There we would find water all night long, and a comfortable place to wake up and swim in the morning. About a mile before we should have met the lake, we encountered a gate. Large, steel, and official, this was not a rancher's gate. I immediately assumed government conspiracy and began to fume. Cameron, the more pragmatic postured that it was most likely land being leased by a fossil fuel extraction company with mineral rights to the land. Further exploration of the surrounding area proved his postulations to be likely. I still fail to see the the difference.
We discussed our anger towards the false promise of maps for a clean mountain lake. Our frustrations with extractive industry, and musings of particularly stimulated seratonin receptors of what happened to the Cuddy Ranch. Were the mineral rights given to a petroleum company, and that’s why the ranch died? Was there too little pasture for their cows? Probably not.
We needed to get past the gate. In our minds, that is. The physical barrier was keeping us from a dependable water source, but we could find a trickle to filter from. More than that, it’s presence became a barrier for our psyche. We made the mistake of becoming focused on a route. On a destination. This gate now represented the failings of such plans, and perhaps pointed out the futility of plans in general.
We focus on maps, routes, roads and lakes. We let topographic lines and numbers so frequently define the hills and the different roads snaking through our lonesome, crowded West, and perhaps its easy to find comfort in these human constructs of notated reality and the products of our Geological Survey. But in reality, what I have been finding is that there is deeper emotional comfort in abandoning those concepts and following the roads and lines based off of a desire to explore. A desire to gain or lose elevation, and to see what the next bend in the maze of drainages has to offer. This realization is what lay beyond in all directions of our gate.
We began to ride the opposite direction, after filling water bottles and talking ourselves out of the mind trap of the gate. Mind the gate. The first road that merged with ours we began to follow. It climbed westward into the hills. The dirt was significantly softer than the gravel road we had been on, and the difference in feel and sound was welcome. Our tracks imprinted clear as the coyotes’, and we began to climb on blind faith towards an unknown campsite with an unknown view.
When I checked my GPS to see where this road might take us, we realized that it wasn't on the map. Our little blip of an arrow pointing West was floating in a lack of tangible data, yet this beautiful road was beneath our tires and stretching into the hills. We turned our GPS signal off, and continued to climb. The comfort and solace of being not lost, but unfound, is perhaps the most important thing I have taken from these few days riding. Finding that moment of flow, that moment of pure clarity that comes from decisions based on a desire for continued momentum, is what brings one meaningful and lasting experiences. Mountain biking, skiing, climbing and music have shown me this on an immediate and short timescale, but understanding that this can be carried out over timescales is a life lesson that I believe takes many reaffirmations and a constant effort to realize and embrace. To balance “flow” in one's life through all timescales is what I believe true happiness, maybe NIrvana may be. A desire for continuum of the body through the trees, over a fretboard, or up a mountain, and a desire and pursuit for a continuum of heart through a long tour, a relationship, or even just a week. That is flow. And when the two meet and balance, that confluence is perhaps the purest form of clarity that life can provide.
We stopped to look out over the valleys that we had risen from over the course of a day, and after Cameron wrote a few thoughts in his notebook, we decided to find a high point to view where this road might take us, or a place that would be good to camp. We found a perfect juniper grove at the crest of a knoll, with soft dirt and good views. As the sun was beginning to get closer to the horizon, we decided to camp here. We schlepped our bags through the brush, and watched the sunset.
That night we ate beans by a fire like cowboys, drank the few beers we brought, and marveled at the stars as we always do, and always will. When the morning came, we rose and saluted the sun, and began to descend down that same dirt road. It is difficult to know that your next destination is town, and that even though it was only meant to be an overnight, the adventure is drawing to a close. But we tried to keep that sense of momentum going, drafting one another and moving with a desire for cool water and food.
Arriving to town felt like an abrupt interruption of that flow. Back to the bustle, away from campfires and stars and juniper berries reflecting moonlight. But to let this be an interruption would fly in the face of what we had learned. We ate a huge meal and drank coffee and beer in the same sitting. Then we deliberately moseyed around town with no other purpose but to be there. We filled a growler and found a piano. We attempted to carry our desires for positive momentum forward.
And I do believe we did a fine job at that.
What we learned is that, though expierenecs away from humanity and into the hills can bring great clarity, that they are always going to be flights from the commonplace and our modern world. But if we can distill the things we feel and do while out there, while in the midst of flow, and infuse that into our daily choices, we just might be a little closer to the clarity of a mountain sunset even if we are just moving through another day at work. And that is what the hills can show us: though there is nothing quite like alpenglow earned through sweat and elevation, that same phenomenon still occurs. It is up to us to know that and find comfort and clarity in knowing that as long as we continue our momentum of heart and body, we will be there to witness it again. And maybe, if that can be taken to heart thoroughly, we will no longer seek flight to the hills as a respite from our reality, but every moment can be that feeling of honest clarity, self preservation, and utter understanding of the moment. We just need to continue to flow.