An Occurence in Deer Creek Canyon

There's nothing quite like an early morning bike ride up the side of a mountain, is there?

A few years ago, I actually got in pretty good shape for cycling...but I couldn't have done it without constant prodding and encouragement from my animalistic friends. This year, all those folks have been pursuing larger goals, and haven't been available to prevent me from becoming a sedentary land whale. I have especially missed training with my buddy Kim Clemens, who not only rides at my speed, but always provides good conversation and a positive attitude as well.

Last Sunday, Kim invited me to ride up Highgrade Road with him. It would only be my second ascent of the summer (yeah, I know -- that is totally lame), so I had no ambitions of speed. It would just be a good 30-mile warmup ride before I had to be back at the pool to coach swim practice. We started well before 5:30am, which meant that we didn't expect to see too many other cyclists until we came back down.

The First Law of Cycling was in effect: "No matter which direction you go, the wind will be in your face." But otherwise, it was a pleasant morning in Deer Creek Canyon. At least it was...until a crazy redneck douchebag coming down the hill drove his truck across the center line and blared on his horn as he passed us.

I do understand why people who live along this road might not appreciate bicyclists. Most riders stay along the shoulder and don't make much noise, but there are a few who ride three abreast and blabber away without regard for traffic, or for the folks who might be sleeping inside their mountain homes. And I can understand that if you have to drive that route every day, you'd become tired of having to pay strict attention to your driving and be aware of all the riders who share the road. What I don't understand is what you think you could gain by harassing a couple of innocent athletes who are abiding by all applicable laws as they quietly pump their pedals to get up the hill.

Fortunately, we were able to continue without further hostility that might be festering among inbred microcephalic hill people with low self-esteem. But even before we got to the Smokey Bear sign, my energy level had faded to an alarming extent. Kim was kind enough to wait while I snarfed down some gels and an energy bar -- and after that, I felt much better.

In fact, I felt darn good. I was still at least one gear below what I should be able to do on that climb, but I kept the cadence fairly steady.

After the first couple of switchbacks on Highgrade, we spotted a handsome red fox trotting down the road (finally explaining the photo at the top of the post), carrying something in his mouth. It didn't appear to be a mouse or a squirrel or anything -- it looked like he was chomping transversewise on two bun-length hot dogs. He didn't seem to be concerned about bikers; he just trotted along with his prize.

Not more than 200 yards later, I saw a long-legged black fox heading in the other direction! Kim later said that he had seen a baby-sized black fox...so there must've been an entire family out for their morning stroll.

Ten minutes later, Kim spotted a large bull elk standing alone in the meadow. It was quite the morning for wildlife viewing, I guess.

The rest of the ride to the Grange schoolhouse was smooth enough; just a few minor adjustments to avoid the muddy deltas that had washed onto the road in the previous night's thunderstorm deluge. We made our donations and helped ourselves to some Gatorade...but were too early for any cookies. Kim was riding back across CityView, but I calculated that I didn't quite have enough time to make it to swim practice if I did that.

I turned and headed back down Highgrade, while Kim left in the opposite direction for the more challenging route. It turned out that I had made a good decision, timewise.

If the descent was typical, I could be home with 20 minutes to spare before I needed to leave for the Ridge. I started thinking about what segments I could add to the ride to use up that extra time. Maybe I could continue on Deer Creek down to Wadsworth and make a loop past the Chatfield entrance. Or perhaps I could climb the South Valley hill up to the Lockheed Martin guard shack once or twice.

Such speculation was moot, though. As usualy I was enjoying the exhilaration of the descent, trying not to inhale any bugs as I flew down the road with gravity's mighty assistance. I was a tad more cautious than usual because of the rainstorm debris on the road...but was still flying. As I approached the entrance to Deer Creek Canyon park, I felt a large bump under the back wheel, and noticed that the sound of the bike had changed.

Though the road had looked clear, it felt like I had hit something. And the bike was no longer humming -- it now sounded more swishy. I hit the brakes and slowed to a stop. Because I had been doing about 30 mph, I was long past where the bump had been felt, and couldn't even see that far back up to the road to identify what I might have hit.

My eyesight sucks.

I looked at the rear wheel and saw nothing amiss...so I remounted and rotated the pedals. It still didn't feel right. I completely dismounted and gave the wheel a closer inspection.

The tire was flatter than Ben Stein's inflection. There was a squished night crawler mashed across a section of the tire, but otherwise, the rubber appeared undamaged. But the air was certainly gone.

(Later in the day, I had a chance to find the hole in the tube. It was a clean slit, about a quarter of an inch long, and parallel to the centerline of the wheel -- though not exactly along the equator. I cannot imagine that an earthworm's teeth did the damage, but I am unable to envision exactly what did do it. It was definitely a slice rather than a puncture, and because it was not on the seam, didn't appear to be a structural failure. Some invisible ground hoodlum shivved me; perhaps one of the Chuds. I may never know for sure.)

Fortunately, I did have my kit, and was able to swap out the tube and inflate the new one with CO₂. I do want to thank all the kind bikers who asked if I needed help as they rode up the hill past my makeshift repair depot. If I hadn't been prepared, I wouldn't have had to wait more than a few minutes for the required assistance.

Even though mechanical tasks do not come easy for me, I was able to complete the repair quickly enough that I was able to make it to swim practice on time. I wish I could say that the rest period needed for the repair was enough to restore my energy for a good effort in the pool...but it did not. I was a comatose manatee throughout the practice. Being the only male in the workout with a bunch of girls, you'd think I could have kept up with somebody on a set or two, but...no. They were apparently unaware that they're supposed to be the weaker sex. Oh well.

Anyway, that was my Highgrade adventure for this week. Other than the flat, I'd have to say that the day was a success, and the new week has gotten off to a great start. I realize that I still owe you the discussion that involves bad parenting and a blowtorch, but I'm not going to have time today. It will also encompass the topics of fiscal irresponsibility and Chipotle scavenger obesity, so please drop by again tomorrow.

As always, thanks for reading, and have a great day!