Thank You Park City For Saving Us From The Absolute Worst Flat Tires EVER!

The Rail Trail Runs in Valley Behind The Famous "PC"

Joe, Jill and their son Ely reside in the Salt Lake City metro area.  They drive a surprisingly clean (for having a young son) Toyota Sienna with a hitch mount bike rack.  I know, because my wife and I rode in the backseat with our two bikes with four flat tires bouncing in the rear view mirror.  They saved us from would have been in the worst case, a 15 mile walk in spandex and bike shoes on a gravel path in a cold remote valley, half of it in the dark.

It was our first full day on our 4^th or 5^th trip to Park City.  I’ve lost track of how many times we’ve taken a mountain bike vacation to PC, but it was Sunday, September 2nd, 2012.  Traditionally on our first ride, we like to take an easy ride so the altitude doesn’t kick us in the lungs.  The past two years we’ve taken the Rail Trail out past Round Valley and along I-80 toward Echo Reservoir.  Round trip it’s a 50 mile ride at a 2% grade, 25 downhill and 25 uphill.  The past two years we’ve always turned around early, worried about lack of daylight on the return.  This time we got out early in the afternoon, plenty of time to enjoy the day.

Full Moon Over Mountainside

We’re experience mountain bikers.  I’ve been riding, racing and vacationing with bikes for close to 18 years now.  Still, we’ve had our shares of cuts and bruises and mechanicals on vacation, stitches in Breckenridge, a couple more in Whistler.  I always pack a first aid kit, tubes, tools, pump, patches, sunscreen, a map, phone, cash, credit card, insurance card, extra clothes depending on the day, more than enough water, more than enough snacks.  With the Hydrapak and seat bag full, we rolled down through the valley. 

Side by side with our tires making a bobsled-esque noise on the downhill gravel, we took in the sights: some long legged Heron looking birds in the tall grass, sheep, llamas or alpaca, the rock formations and the most unique cows we’ve ever seen.  We called them Oreo cows.  The front and back ends were black, with a delicious looking white middle.  “Hey pretty cow!”  My wife shouted.  It was beautiful late Sunday afternoon.

We zipped around the gate at the entrance to Echo Reservoir.  There were no boats, no jet skis, no picnickers, weird for a Sunday.  There was no water.  It had dried up, save a 40 yard stretch being circled by some guys in 4 Wheel Drive trucks.  A lone jogger passed by and we exchanged hellos.  Then silence again.  Bummed, we sat on our top tubes and chatted about the drought.  I leaned over and picked a rock out of my front tire treads.

Pssssst.  The rock was a thorn!  I quickly spun my tire with the hole toward the ground so the sealant would seal up the leak.  Later we would learn it was a Goat Head thorn.  My tire was covered in them.  Both of my tires were covered in them.  All of our tires were covered in them.  “Leave them in.  We’ve got sealant, but we better head back!” 

How Many Can You Count?  Each Tiny Dot Is A Thorn Too

We were 25 miles from “home” at 5:30pm with literally hundreds of thorns in our tubeless tires.  Never in our 4 or 5 trips to Park City have we ever encountered thorns.  We’ve ridden nearly every trail from Mid Mountain to Flying Dog, ‘cept for the new Armstrong trail and last five miles of the rail trail to at Echo Reservoir.  It would be officially dark at 8pm.  The shadow in this deep valley would cross sooner.  Out loud, we did the math.  At 14mph, we could be back by 7ish.  That left us about an hour to deal with the flats if we had to, but the sealant was working at the moment.

Amazingly, we rolled 8 miles before both my tires became uncontrollable on the gravel.  I pulled out a CO2 and aired them both up.  2 miles later, her front went flat.  I pulled out another CO2.  Ssshhhhuuuuup!  It was full.  As I removed the chuck from the valve stem, the chuck stuck.  Sometimes that happens with the cold cartridges.  I pulled again.  My heart sank.  With the chuck, the valve stem had pulled through the metal hole in the rim.

I pulled the whole tire off and tried to get the valve stem back through.  Being an old wheel, it was done.  The rim had corroded a bit (maybe the sealant got to it) and now the hole was too big for the stem to seal.  We had to use a tube with a tire that was covered in at least 200 thorns.

In the area of my wife’s thumb print, she counted six.  Extrapolate that to a whole mountain bike tire and multiply by four.  Goat Heads are evil buggers, as sharp and long as a thumbtack.  An elementary school’s worth was stuck in our tires.  Sitting on the trail on either side of the tire, we went to work.  Yep.  One by one, finger by pricked finger.  I used a knife, she her fingernails.  In twenty minutes, we probably made it a third of the way through the thorns on her front tire.  With a sigh, I looked up the valley, a group of cyclists approached.

“Are you guys okay?  Do you need help?”  They asked as they slowly coasted by.  We all ask the questions when we see a cyclist by the side of a trail.  Sometimes we don’t expect to actually…uh…help.  “Yeah.  Yeah.  I think we do” Rachel piped up.  The couple and their son stopped.  We explained.  “Oh.  Those are Goat Heads.  You’re not going to fix that.”

I don’t recall when we introduced one another.  I do remember their bikes.  Funny how that works.  They had early 90’s “vintage” mountain bikes, one Fisher and one Ritchey, still with rigid forks, platform pedals and those big fat cantilever brake shoes.  Those bikes were the shit back in the day.  Jill asked my wife Rachel if she could snap a photo of her phone number on her phone.  It was decided that they would return to their van seven miles up the trail, pack up, and drive to meet us at the nearest freeway exit two miles away.  Jill would call when they got back to the van.  We parted ways with complete trust in strangers.

After a 20 minute walk, we sat on some concrete in a construction site in front of a Sinclair convenience store at the bottom of the exit ramp and waited.  I played around with some rebar as we chatted.  “How long do you think it will take for them to get here,” Rachel asked.  “I’m thinking 45 minutes to ride the 7 miles up hill, a few minutes to pack up and maybe 15-20 to get here.  It’s gonna be an hour at least.”

Surprisingly, only 15 minutes later, Jill and Ely rolled up to the Sinclair as well.  “Heeey!”  They said it was a little too far and too uphill for young Ely.  Joe was on his way with the van.  Here we were, in the middle of nowhere (to us) outside of Coalville, Utah making the best of a bad situation with two complete strangers.

What sticks out in my mind is that it was never awkward.  They were very personable, interesting people.  It was more than small talk.  We got to know each other a bit.  I never felt a cold shoulder, not even from Ely, an unbelievably patient young man.  Soon enough Joe arrived.  I helped him load the bikes.  We shared the backseat with Ely.  “Where are you staying,” Joe asked.  “If you don’t mind driving us to the Marriot Mountainside in Park City, that’d be great.”  It was no problem at all.  We talked about our careers and backgrounds and travels and soon enough we pulled into the driveway in about 25 minutes.

Every Little White Dot You See Is A Thorn

Joe and I pulled the bikes down.  We shook hands.  My wife offered $25 dollars for the ride, the gas, their generosity, the nice clean van, Ely’s patience.  They declined.  Jill said something like, “Joe rides all the time.  I can only hope that if he’s in a sticky situation, someone will help him out.” 

The next day after buying four new mountain bike tires (thank goodness for the 40% off End of Season Sale at Cole Sport) we went out for another ride.  On the way back, we stopped in White Pine Outfitters, probably our favorite shop.  As we paid for some socks or something, we looked down to see a sign scotch taped to the counter. 

“Do not ride the Rail Trail past Coalville.  It’s covered in Goat Head thorns.  You WILL need to buy TWO new tires.”

Joe, Jill and Ely rest assured, if you ever get into a spot of bother on a ride and ask for help our answer will always be yes.  What goes around comes around.  So, thank you for coming around with your kindness, patience and generosity.

Best Regards,

Joe in Cincinnati

Win a Hydrapak for Your Next Adventure

See The Cool Packs at Hydrapak.com

CONTEST ENDED: 
Congrats to Nate!  He chose the Hydrapak Soquel!  Thanks for reading.


Last week I wrote about my trip to Park City Utah where I goosed a moose on the Mid Mountain Trail, ran into pro rider and PC resident Evan Hyde, and at the end of a four hour ride, stuffed an entire six pack of Full Sail Ale in my Hydrapak Morro at the state liquor store and rode back to our condo.  Hydrapak liked it so much, they picked up the story on their blog AND offered up a chance for you to win a Hydrapak for your next adventure.  Sa-weet corn!

To win: Click, Choose and Comment

1) CLICK here and visit the hydration packs page of the Hydrapak website

2) CHOOSE a model you’d like to take on your next adventure

3) COMMENT!  Come back to this post and leave a comment explaining the Hydrapak model you chose and why.  Of course, creativity is always encouraged.  However, we’ll draw a random winner from all the comment entries to win a Hydrapak. 

Fine Print: Deadline for entries is Midnight October 12^th, 2011.  Anonymous comments will not be considered.  It's not a rule, but to help us get in touch with you if you were to win, please try to link an email address to the profile you choose to enter with.  Winner will be drawn and contacted October 13^th, 2011.  Winner will be announced October 14th, 2011 both here and on our Facebook page.  Click here to like us, especially if you don't link an email to your comment profile.  Good luck and thanks for reading The Best Bike Blog EVER!

Hydrapak Morro: One World - One Pack

"Groceries"

Paper or plastic?  “I’m good.  I think I can get it all in my pack,” I answered at the checkout at the state liquor store in Park City Utah after our four hour ride.  As she swiped my credit card, I pulled the micro brew bottles out of the six pack holder and stuffed them into my new Hydrapak Morro.  While the people behind me in line waited patiently for me to bag my “groceries,” I wrapped one beer in my vest, two in each of my arm warmers, set all six above the first aid kit, slid my map and the cardboard six-pack holster along side of the pump, tucked in my full-fingered gloves, zipped and cinched it up and swung it on my shoulders.  They were astonished.  I rode off.

2012 Morro

It was probably a four mile ride back to our condo at the Canyons Resort.  Sure it felt a little heavy, because now I had a six pack and a good 30ml of water in that thing with tools and Band-Aids and clothes and a puppy and my wallet and phone and energy bars and a 29er tube and a bottle of ibuprofen, but everything balanced out.  It wasn’t a chore to ride.  Did I say puppy?  For the record, I did not stuff a puppy in my backpack, but if I had to, there was room to lash one to the outside if need be, probably two.

Mid Mountain Trail Above Park City

I’m the last guy on Planet Mountain Bike to actually like a big pack.  A Hydration backpack to me was the equivalent of straight jacket made from hot wet monkeys.  The crazy thing is I have one of the smallest possible, an older Camelback Rocket with a 50oz reservoir.  I can’t tell you how many times I’d swear, “I’m never riding with this thing again!”  And, I didn’t.  I used to pride myself on minimalism, even on epic rides in Pisgah and Tsali.  I’d take bottles, use a seat pack and my jersey pockets, tape a 2^nd tube to my stem, and tuck food under my short and sleeve hems.  If necessary, I’d reduce first aid and tools to the most extreme basics: a chain pin, a tri-allen wrench, a tiny chain tool CO2, 3 big band aids and a 3oz tube of Neosporin…anything to avoid the hot wet monkey straight jacket.

I used to think Camelback was the only option with their specialized bite valve and oversized filling hole.  The Hydrapak is just as innovative, albeit different.  For one, the Hydrapak reservoir is a zip-lock bag of sorts.  On our Utah trip my wife used her Camelback.  I think my Morro was easier to fill.  She had to sort of let the camel drink, while I poured 2 32oz Gatorades down the Hydrapak’s neck with a quick ker-sploosh, added a tray of ice cubes and zipped it closed.  With Camelback’s we’ve always had to awkwardly hang them upside down on a hanger with a paper towel stuffed inside so air could circulate and dry out the reservoir.  To clean and dry, the Hydrapak reservoir folds inside-out and the plug and play drinking tube simply unclicks from the bag.  On the bike, the neat-o magnet on the drinking tube allows the tube to magically return itself to its stored position after you drink.  No more getting slapped in the knee or baffed in the chin with an unwieldy tube. 

Hydrapak Avila

If you haven’t had a new pack in a while, The HydrapakMorro is nothing like the bulky pack you had even 5 or 6 years ago.  While a larger pack, at a stout 1lb 13oz, the Morro is extremely versatile.  (Wienies may want to check out the Avila pictured left weighing a scant 7 ounces while still having a pocket and a 70oz bladder) The man-sized Morro even makes a nice gear bag.  Pre or post ride, it’ll easily fit your kit, shoes, tools, tube and helmet.  Whether packed light or full, the Morro feels surprisingly light thanks to the vented back padding and secure cinching straps.  I can’t believe I’m saying this, but if there were a rather unsupported 5+ hour ultra endurance event, I’d be tempted to race with it.  Maybe.

Morro's Magnet in use at Stewart Falls - Sundance, Utah

Packed full, on a 5 ½ hour navigation of Park City’s famous Mid-Mountain trail I never felt bothered by having a ton of stuff on my back.  I even scored extra hubby points by carrying my wife’s tools and tube.  I still climbed awkward switchbacks and zipped through rock gardens as easily as if I wasn't wearing a pack.  Off the bike, I used it on a quick day hike to Stewart Falls in Sundance with nothing more than a first aid kit, a long sleeve shirt, an energy bar and 50oz of water inside.  With a smaller payload, you simply cinch up the Hydrapak Morro and it feels like a smaller lighter pack.  So, if you come across an orphaned puppy on the trail, no problem, he can ride shotgun. 


Check out the video below for more on the Morro.

Video: How I Spent My Summer MTB Vacation in Park City

I had no idea until I climbed nearly 2000 feet up the Spiro Trail in Park City Utah on Saturday, September 11th, the Mid-Mountain Marathon would crowd the Mid-Mountain trail from Deer Valley to the Canyons Resort.  I planned on riding Mid-Mountain from the Spiro to the Canyons.  It is an "epic" ride, an IMBA epic in fact, a ride I kept in the back of my head throughout Cincinnati's hot and muggy summer.  I was bummed...for a few seconds.


When I got to the intersection of the Spiro and Mid-Mountain at 8:45am with frost on the ground and my breath visible in the air, I realized there was no way I could share the trail with the 100 or so runners.  I asked a cyclist from White Pine Outfitters, the best bike shop in PC in my opinion who was on the mountain side cheering for his running wife, what I should do.  He was riding a sweet XTR equipped Cannondale Scalpel.  Certainly he knew how to resurrect my ride.  


He recommended I continue up the mountain on the Powerline Trail to pretty little Shadow Lake, then take the flowing Keystone trail to Apex to the Steps, where I could intersect the Mid-Mountain again and head toward Deer Valley.  Aside from the nut buster baby head rock strewn climb up Powerline to 9000+ feet (where his advice to "just relax and climb" was dead-on), it did not disappoint.  With the vistas and sweet flowing trail of Keystone and the switchbacks of Apex and The Steps I couldn't help but pull out the cell-phone camera and capture the scenery.  On the way back to Main Street, I tossed in a Park City favorite, the Tour Des Suds as my descent from 8000 feet.  


Here's my video diary of the day.

In Heaven There Is No Clipless Pedals

…or spandex cycling shorts for that matter. I just returned from a week in Whistler, BC the home of the Nordic events of the 2010 Winter Olympics based in Vancouver. I have the Quatchi souvenir Olympic lunch box to prove it. We and maybe three other people were the only cyclists without platform pedals, baggy shorts and more suspension on our rental car than our bikes.

While expensive, Whistler is Heaven, not only in the sense of gorgeous freshwater mountain lakes surrounded by lush glaciated peaks fed by a network of great bike trails and paths, but also in the sense of pretty much any sport that that has ever graced the cover of Outside Magazine you can do in Whistler. Hiking, mountain climbing, bouldering, zip lining, eco-touring, kayaking, bungee jumping, canoeing, sky-gliding, horseback riding, ATVing, or skiing, you name it and you can do it in Whistler. While Breckenridge and Park City continue to draw more summer vacationers each time I visit, they are still only a notch above ghost town when compared to Whistler. The only difference between having a beer at the base of Whistler Mountain in September and January is the temperature and those coming down the hill in September have big bombing downhill bikes rather than ski’s and snowboards. The place was packed with people and bikes! However, I have a love-hate relationship with cycling in Whistler.

We love taking summer vacations to ski-areas more or less for the great cycling and off-peak rates. Whistler is a bit different than say a Breckenridge or a Park City. Whistler, at about 2100 feet above sea level, doesn’t have the altitude to make a fit person get a head rush climbing the stairs to the post office. If you want to travel from a low lying city like Cincinnati and go out for a five hour hike or ride or paddle in the mountains the minute you get off the plane, Whistler is the place no Sherpa or acclimatizing necessary. My big problem with Whistler is the mountain biking.

Yes. I have an issue with mountain biking in Whistler.

The issue is that the trails in Whistler are marked with easy, intermediate and expert signs when they should be marked with cartoon pictures of testicles: one small nut for easy and three huge ones for expert. I’m not talking about the downhill mountain bike park. When you put your bike up on a ski lift and are surrounded by people with full face helmets, body armor, and enough suspension to make a Hummer jealous, you know what you’re getting yourself into and you better have a big nut sack. Believe me, there were plenty of dudes wearing casts walking, hobbling or wheeling their chairs through Whistler Village to prove it. I’m talking about Whistler’s general single track trails around town, what you might call cross country trails. The Whistler Valley trail maps may try to deceive you with a variety of expert, intermediate (sign above says it all) and easy trails. There are really only two types of unpaved trails in Whistler: awkward rooty and rocky with varying degrees of drop offs or wood structures or silky smooth crushed gravel easy trails and fire roads.

Durango, Breckenridge, Park City, Pisgah, Tsali, you name it they’re all packed with what I’d call great cross country mountain bike trails. Trails that usually start out with a nice long climb and level out on some sort of ridgeline trail that traverses the mountain side. When I laid the Whistler map across the coffee table, I eyed the Intermediate (blue) Rainbow Sproat trail and a drip of drool plopped on the map. It appeared as I described above. However detailed, topo maps don’t show endless rock gardens, drop offs and the density of 4 inch tree roots per mile. While the double/single track climb was fine, when I got to the actual Rainbow Sproat Trail, it was an unrelenting exercise at maneuvering through the obstacles: rocks and roots and surprise drops. Don’t get me wrong, I did enjoy the challenge. I cleaned most of it on a sweet XT equipped rented Rocky Mountain Element from Summit Bikes. Even though the switchbacks were fun and the scenic payoff at Rainbow Falls was breathtaking, I really didn’t enjoy the riding itself.

I have daydreams about the Peaks Trail in Breckenridge and the Mid-Mountain Trail in Park City. Just like Whistler, the climbs are tough and so are the various drops, rocks and roots. Unlike Whistler, the technical sections of other mountain town trails are broken up between long stretches of flowing single track. Single track that makes you say woo-hoo as you whiz through hours and miles of forests and meadows. Whistler single track is all tough and technical. By the time I rode the intermediate ranked Rainbow Sproat, Cut Yer Bars, the tight single track at Long Lake Park and watching my wife wreck on a trail called Blueberry…I didn’t dare tackle any expert trails (photo of Comfotably Numb trail junction in Long Lake Park) without a bigger bike and more protective gear.

Whistler trails, more specifically the intermediate and expert ones, all require expert technical ability. The only discernable difference I could see between expert and intermediate trails was the size of the dropoffs or how high the wooden bridges were. Twenty meters into any intermediate trail and I soon realized why so many people were wearing body armor and baggy shorts, had platform pedals and their saddle lowered on trails outside of the ski lift area. That’s cool, if you know what you’re getting yourself into. So, now you know what you’re getting yourself into. There's no middle ground in Whistler. It's body armor or basically bike path.

Till I vacationed in Whistler, I never saw the need for more than 100mm of front suspension or to lower my saddle or wear body armor or to go with platform pedals. Although from time to time I’d prefer a full suspension XC bike, I’d take my Niner Air 9 hard tail to Breckenridge, Park City, Durango, Moab, Pisgah, Tsali or dark West Virginia single track in a heart beat. My Niner in Whistler would be like bringing a knife to a gunfight.

Whistler made me realize my favorite mountain biking combines the free flowing beauty of Whistler’s “easy” trails with the occasional challenge of Whistlers rocks, roots and drop-offs. It's just that In Whistler, you can't have both at the same time.