I broke my camera. It took a flying leap to freedom and discovered that the ground wasn’t soft. All pictures on this blog will be shamelessly stolen from Scott until I figure out getting a new one.
It turns out that I’m a bit of an adventure junkie. I don’t do well with routine. I don’t do well waking up in the same spot every day. I don’t do well knowing to a pretty good approximation what’s going to happen today, and tomorrow, and the day after. I used to be good at all these things, I really was.
And then at some point in time, I fell off the Normal Human Being bandwagon.
We landed in Durango about two and a half weeks ago now. We got ourselves hooked up with a place to stay temporarily, I’ve been given the go ahead to actually start putting miles on the bike, the knee is 98% there, I’m making a little bit of money, I should settle down and enjoy, right?
I probably could if the Tour Divide wasn’t starting tomorrow. It’s not that I actually want to go out and ride my bike for 18 hours a day for three weeks over washboards and get rained on and get scared of bears and whatnot, because really, I think it takes more than a year to fully mentally recover from a Tour Divide ride, but watching people get prepared for it, and get psyched up on it really made me crave adventure. The unknown.
Yeah, it’s nice knowing I have a fridge full of food, but there’s something romantic about the notion of not really knowing what my next meal is going to be.
Scott came in the room two days ago and said, ‘Want to go camping?’
It took us under 30 minutes to pack bikes and camping gear, under an hour to get the primo camp spot we’d been eyeing during our week of homelessness when we first got here, and just a hair over two hours from the moment we started getting ready to being back at camp, a lovely spin on the trail under our belts and dinner wares out on the picnic table. We cooked under the trees, slept out under the stars, dozed in the bright sunshine of the morning, and then went for a ride on unknown trails.
With both our knees in the ‘semi-questionable’ category still, we played it conservative choosing a route. Two hours, maybe? I bet the knees could handle that. We climbed and climbed and climbed, and then descended, descended, and descended, giggled, hooted, and wondered how they could build roads so steep, and then climbed back up to camp. It was an honest to goodness mountain bike ride, of the multi-hour quality complete with beautiful mountain meadows, deep forests, beautiful ridge lines, big views and descending that got my adrenaline flowing.
Packing up camp took approximately five minutes and we were back in town for tacos 20 minutes later. Then on to the river for a soak before heading home to return to real life.
It took 24 hours round trip. There wasn’t really anything ‘epic’ about it, but it was just the break from the routine I’ve been settling into that I needed. I still wish I was heading out of Banff tomorrow morning because I know that everyone who is will be in for a giant adventure, but instead I’ll blue dot stalk, continue to get my body back on-line, and figure out ways that I can make my life as unpredictable as possible.