I tried to go snowshoeing up at Kenosha Pass the other day, it proved to be so hard packed that I didn't need the snowshoes. This set me to scheming:
So I headed up the next day with the big bike (why a big bike? bigger tires, more travel for choppy snow, DX pedals...and hey, it's a fun bike to ride) One car, laden down with snowboards but with the requisite bike rack, honked and gave me a thumbs up as I unloaded the bike. It was an absolutely smashing colorado bluebird day. Temps were right around 33 or so. Balmy. Mind you this was mid-March in Colorado, at 10,000 feet no less. Folks from all over the country were flocking to lower elevations for ski trips. I guess what I'm saying is that we are still firmly ensconced inthe quarters of Old Man Winter.
The trail was eminently rideable. The corridor laid down by a season of XC skiers and snowshoers provided a firm base and traction was all that I needed it to be. It was beautiful out there. Starkly beautiful. Quiet like you wouldn't believe. And big. Man it felt big out there. The open expansiveness of the American West lent it's own gravitas to the whole experience.
(Up for a study in contrasts?)
(looks familiar eh?)
It's funny how on south facing slopes the trail hoarded it's snow. Compaction.
