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Sometimes I am a bit reserved. I tend to over-plan things and pay too much attention to the clock. This weekend, I was more relaxed. I had my parents visiting from NJ. They brought my youngest son with them. He spent four weeks with them. Kind of like a free sleep-away camp :).

At first I thought business as usual for the weekend, but I quickly decided that spending time with them was more important than a long ride. So, I did some shorter rides.

Saturday, I wanted to spend time with my Dad, so I brought him and my youngest (older one was working) to the shooting range. My dad had a blast (literally).

We scoped out our targets at 25 and 50 yards.

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Once there was this guy who wanted to have a great day. Sure, there were plenty of good days, but great days were few and far between. He was determined to make things happen, and the evening before he thought hard about what could possibly make a great day. Being passionate about mountain biking, he knew that the great day had to include that. So, he set out to find a trail that would bring the great day upon him.

With his decision made, he invited several people to join him on this auspicious endeavor. Sadly, he was not taken up on his offer, but he was determined not to let that sway him from the task at hand.

The morning arrived with little fanfare other than a crystal blue sky and the daunting task at hand. He quickly loaded up his necessities, chose a rather lightly geared stead, and headed out to higher elevations to achieve his goal.

Sipping on a grape soda and eating some rather fresh Oreo cookies on the way, he had an epiphany. Since his first choice of trail was a lesser traveled trail, what would happen if he was stuck by himself? How would anyone know if he had a great day, if he never came back? Who would help him keep a steady pace? Was it really worth the extra fifteen minute drive for a shorter out and back course?

With that in mind, he changed his destination and arrived at the Kenosha Pass trailhead. After all, it’s only a great ride if other people see you having a great time, he thought to himself.

Saddled up, he began the long arduous climb to above tree line. His ride started out in relative solitude, as he left a small group of people who were preparing in the parking area. It was just him and the trail.

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A long weekend of riding and trail building was ahead. I haven’t taken time off of work in a while, so I was do.  I’ve got lots of vacation days, just never enough time to use them.

With the camper loaded it, it was off to Buffalo Creek.

I managed to get a few good rides in spite of the weather.  The old saying of “it’s Colorado,  wait ten minutes and the weather will change.”, did not work this weekend.  It was rainy!  It had been rainy for a few days.  However, I did fine some intermittent sunshine just long enough for a pedal.

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After our email banter the previous evening, we decided a little Colorado Trail action was in order.  Section 1 is no slouch.  Even as an out and back, there’s a pretty long climb involved.

The air was pretty still as we made our way up Waterton Canyon to the trailhead.  Even with the parking lot nearly full, there weren’t many on the trail.

The climb up to Lenny’s rest was hot and humid.  Well, humid for Colorado.

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I flew home to Colorado from Vegas on Friday night and arrived to probably the worst Thunderstorm in decades. The lightening outside the plane window was terrifying and even worse when the pilot decided he was going to land. Seated in row two and flying just about every other week, I have become accustomed to the cockpit sounds. I know what they sound like when they test them before take-off and I hoped never to hear them during flight. Not this night. As the plane tossed up, down, and side to side, I had the worst feeling during a flight that I have ever experienced. I was scared. As I alternated between the window and the TV on the seat in front of me, My hands we firmly connected to the arm rests. Just a short hour before I told the folks next to me how often I fly for work. Sort of cocky in my statement, I sure wasn’t living up to my comments.

The pilot was going for the landing. Four hundred feet above the runway (if it was the runway), I heard the dreaded voice I wished to never hear. WIND SHEAR! WIND SHEAR! WIND SHEAR!. Two seconds later, the engines were at their highest rev, with a whining sound that equaled the stress grunt of an Olympic weight lifter breaking the world record. The plane shot up almost vertical, still tossing being tossed around like volleyball. Not a word from the captain. The look on the flight attendants faces were not reassuring. They looked like I felt, terrified. The plane came around again, this time way to the South of the usual airport landing. “What’s going on?”, said the couple next to me as if I was an experienced pilot. We are going to make another go, I said. “Is anyone else aware of this? Why doesn’t the pilot say something?”. the couple said. I am not sure. Just then, the pilot comes on and says one word, “cabin”. The attendants get frantic. I get frantic, my teeth clenched so tight it hurts. We drop from 8000′ to 7000′ (remember, Denver is already at 5280′), then back up to 8000′. Holy crap, this guy doesn’t know what to do! We make another turn even further South. Where’s he landing, Texas? Finally, we touch down and I see a glimpse of a building I se from the airport road. He landed on the Cargo runway. Twenty minutes of taxiing and we finally disembark with me a new believer in Terra firma.

So what does this have to do with mountain biking? It changed my plans for the Sunday ride. I wanted to stay a little more local and enjoy my comfortable surroundings. I still had way too much adrenaline built up.

So, I rode with some friends at Alder/3 Sisters park in Evergreen. A relaxing and fun day!

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