I had planned to ride the ever-planned-never-ridden Squaw Peak to Hobble Creek route today.
Every year for the past three, maybe four, years I have planned to ride this route in the fall. Fall is in full swing in the high mountains—which should be the best time to ride this glorified version the Bonneville Shoreline trail. I’ve always wanted to challenge myself with ~4000 feet of climbing and enjoy the reward of fall colors and fantastic views of the valley.
It’s no single-track to be sure, but I still have wanted to do it. Why? I’m not entirely sure. There are plenty of beautiful trails I’ve never ridden. Maybe it’s partly because it’s there, partly because I can see a snippet of the route from my front door—a single line slicing across the mountain, mocking me, and partly because I keep planning to do it and continue to be thwarted in my attempts.
The 2009 Squaw Peak ride was not to be. Caren had an engagement that took up a good part of the morning, and so, in an effort to relieve any burden of me being gone, I got the kids fed and enlisted them in cleaning the house. Top to bottom, spick and span. This effectively killed the early-start-early-finish strategy, but maximized the help-ease-the-burden-of-being-gone-for-six-hours problem I face with rides like these.
When Caren arrived home, the house was spotless and we were finishing up lunch. I was ready to go, save for loading the bike. She generously offered to drive me up to the starting point. We loaded the kids in the van and I backed it out of the garage to load the bike.
As I picked up the bike and put it on the rack I noticed this:
That’s right—my seat tube is cracked. I have no idea how this happened. Maybe it was on my 157 ride the other day. Maybe it was from my *fall.
*Note: this isn’t really me, and if you’re sensitive to language and/or people falling off cliffs, or have kids in the room, skip this link.
In any case, it’s a disappointment. I was fueled, I was hydrated, my legs felt strong and just minutes before I was ready to leave I find this. Of course I can’t go out on a 30 mile remote ride with a cracked frame. That’s just asking for trouble. Or at a minimum, a lot of standing.
So I called up my local Gary Fisher dealer and found out it would take 3-4 weeks to get it replaced. I don’t know if he’s trying to spin it or what, but he ended with a lame, “Fisher is really fast about warranty replacements.” If 3-4 weeks is fast, I don’t want to know what’s slow.
In 3-4 weeks the trail will likely be dusted in snow—or at least plenty muddy. Like Fatty says, autumn mountain biking is a matter of some urgency. And now my season is pretty much done.
On the bright side, I should end up with a nicer paint job.
There’s always 2010, I suppose.