So, this dude, we will call him Doom, had this vision. In this vision, he saw friends, beer, mother nature, rafting, sand, big bikes with big tires, some more beer, smiles, and a moment in our lives so great that no photograph taken can render itself as an adequate representation of the levels of epicness that we would digest.
This was not what Rachel told me when I stopped by Ira and her place to pick up Kimberlyn's freshly tuned, ridiculous, purple Ira Ryan custom mixte in late April. Rather, it is what I understood. If you know Doom, you know there is no such thing as simple mountain bike touring. When I hear the words, "portable raft", "stupid", "really sandy section", "Canyonlands, UT", "Pugslys", and "Durango" out of Rachel's mouth, I know the former to be closer to the truth, mixed in with some tough hike-a-bike sections and some rough technical stuff as well. And we both decided right then and there to find out personally. I mean, no matter what, there was gonna be some serious "GN-shreddage!-
AR " for sure.
So we plan. We find tickets to be a reasonable $330 round trip each with a $50 bike fee(which I used to its full 99.9 lb limit. 100.0 pounds apparently isn't gonna get by Durango air cops). We have racks built and borrowed. We cobble together a pack list. I realize I haven't been camping for about ten years save for Dee and Anne's wedding trip when I spent the night in Idiotville. I have nothing. I have three-ish weeks and it doesn't seem like enough time, but my drive to make it happen is greater than my initial preparedness, and somehow things come together.
It's a plan. It's gonna happen. A reunion of sorts. Last fall, Motordome™ associates Rachel, Bobby Birk, and I drove to Durango to meet up with another associate-Hazel, and Tim and Ian-messengers who rode to Mancos, just outside of Durango, from SF. I was stoked to be at my first mountain bike race ever, even though I only had a SS Cross bike. I hadn't ridden a mountain bike since 1998 when I reluctantly sold my bass boat blue Schwinn Homegrown to buy a new snowboard and some gear(which I ended up trashing thanks to the worst November/December on record at Telluride). Anyhow, I didn't care. I was having fun with people that just wanted to have fun. There were 1,100 or so people for the race, and the vast majority went to town with the color contest entry forms that were part of preregistration. There were legends, somebodies, and nobodies. We were all the same. Nobody was cool and nobody cared. It was like how riding in Portland used to be back in the 90's before we as a city became aware of how apparently cool our bike scene was. That trip resonated with us for several months. It's why we were going back. It's why Motordome™ is planning trips to Oakridge and Hood River sometime this summer. What's this? Yesterday, the MD was brought back from its winter slumber out near Mollala and parked in my driveway. Possible emergency shelter for Westside Invite X, the rig is set for weekend destruction of any and all sorts. The beast has emerged from hibernation. It's time to be fuzzarded to win it mode...