Started the day with designs on completing a trail run followed by a bouldering session at Pence and O'Fallon parks up in Jefferson County. Parked at the trailhead, put on some gloves to afford some protection from developing handsicles in the chill and turned on the iPod. I never took the trail up out of the parking lot at Pence Park and now seemed like a good time.
It started off well; a nice rocky trail that broke up the tedious monotony that occasionally accompanies running. Then things got steep. How steep? Those in the know will understand the description of "climber trail" steep.
Why is my heart pounding? Looking down I can see my legs still churning; why aren't I going anywhere quickly? Maybe because I can see the ground at eye level four feet in front of me.
According to the bouncing altimeter on my wrist, I scampered up over 300 feet in about six minutes. The aftershocks were any small incline after that felt like scaling K2. When I saw a couple of downhill bikers donning their protective armor, I understood why my heart was pounding, why my lungs were resperating as if the fast-forward button had become stuck and why my rib cage felt constrictive.
Running down the hill was not any easier. The nice thing is it makes you adopt quick feet to avoid sliding down on your backside, rolling an ankle or spiraling through the air in a manner reminiscent of Calvin and Hobbes sledding.
For some reason, my legs ignored my mental urges to stop and I continued over to O'Fallon Park, up the trail and onto the Ridge Trail. Finally when the way began it's long descent, my body listened to my executive decision to savor a few minutes to break, enjoy the view over to Bierstadt, Mt Evans and the Sawtooth Ridge.
A moment of drama presented itself on my way back. I took a way trail up a ridge that passes underneath a bouldering area I've been frequenting lately. Along the skyline I spotted a canine running. Coyote? Too big. I realized it was a fairly burly dog, which was now running towards me, barking viciously during its intercepting sprint. I shouted authoritatively at it to no avail. Finally its owners feebly began yelling at the dog with no effect.
Either it ultimately heeded its owners' calls or realized I wasn't blenching when it got within 10 feet of me. As I ran pass the languid owners, they shouted out apologies for their overprotective dog. I didn't bother sharing with them that I had my climbing knife out and open and was going to put an end to Fido if he attacked.
Mind you, I love animals - more so than people to be truthful. But I wouldn't lose sleep killing somebody's pet if it means protecting myself or somebody I care about.
Anyways onto Saturday:
FLYING J RANCH
SIDENOTE: It's interesting to hear my downstairs neighbor moan about some play which happened on whatever NFL game he's watching. How about you shift your beer-fed paunch, get off your haunches and do something yourself that might be memorable one day? I'm off my sanctimonious soapbox now.
I finally fulfilled a months-old pledge to take my friend Brian out mountain biking. He bought a nice Fuji bike a few months back and truthfully it was looking too shiny. Not a single speck of dirt or scratch on it. We were going to have to change that and get him off pavement for his first time.
I'm not a sadist so I took him to the most mild singletrack I knew of: Flying J Ranch outside of Conifer. Gave him some pointers about shifting, looking ahead and bike balance.
Several times he informed me I was trying to kill him and there was one occurrence I heard the tell-tale sound that signifies "We've got a biker down"! Well, you're supposed to get scraped up and a little bloody from time to time; that's how you know you're alive.
I have to say I'm proud of the guy. I told him the first time on the trail is by far the hardest and he made it the entire 5 miles.
Afterwards we drove up Hwy 73 to my second home, Alderfer/Three Sisters Open Space Park. On the way to my favorite bouldering area, we came across some natives.
One elk quickly multiplied into nine as we searched the surrounding forest and discovered the heard on both sides of us, including the patriarch.
When we got to within 25 feet of him, he bugled his displeasure, making each of us take a step off the trail away from him.
Finally we got to the Big Boulder - that's at least what myself and a couple other climbers call it - and I forced Brian to endure about an hour of my playtime.
I tried not taking too long, even though I warned him about my intentions. Still my energy was getting sapped by cutting out the rests. I found enough reserves to get in a traverse into a highball.
Padding to the top after the 30-foot climb felt good, especially after an exposed smear of faith up high.
Tetzler's torturing continued afterwards as we made our way up the trail to the base of two of the sisters. Scrambling up, I pointed where he wanted to put his feet and hands. Finally we got to the top of one of the formations and looked out onto the vista.
A treat of some Chicago hot dogs in Evergreen concluded a fun afternoon. Now we just have to see if Brian ever answers any calls from me again.
ARTIST OF THE POST: Tori Amos - Randomly came on while online. I enjoy the juxtaposition of the high note melody on the piano accompanied by occasional forceful drum.
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