Since none of my bicycling cronies were available to ride on Sunday, I decided to tag along with Mike as far as the top of Yikes! where he would continue climbing and I would turn downhill to return home on my own.

Looking back down the Conservancy's North Trail

Who needs a buddy when there's delayed shutter release?

Looking up Mill Creek

I rode down Yikes! and had such a good time I decided to climb back up the conservancy trail and ride it again.  When I got to the top I opted to have a look at Judy's Jump Off which descends more directly down the same ridge.  I haven't ridden Judy's in probably ten years, ostensibly because Yikes! is more fun; but actually it's because Judy's is too scary to be fun unless the traction is really good.

The !@#$ reservoir that destroyed the bottom part of Yikes!.

I approached the crest of the hill tentatively, remembering that the first section drops so steeply that there is no stopping once you commit to the plunge.  This is the driest time of year so I expected the traction to be nonexistent and had no intention of actually riding down the trail.  I figured Id just scope it out and then ride back up to the Yikes! turnoff.  When I came to the place where you have to commit I was surprised to see that there was good purchase along one side of the rut and if one could refrain from grabbing too much brake it would be possible to keep from falling into it.  I started my controlled slide down the track, feathering the brakes enough to stay under control.  A few yards down I saw that the rut intersected my path but it looked like if I kept the weight off the front wheel and let off the brakes for a split second, I would be able to cross it at enough of an angle to continue down on the opposite side of the rut. 

I picked up some momentum during the rut maneuver but by this time the steepest part was behind me so I could shift some weight to the front wheel to add some stopping power to the front brake.  I managed to bleed off enough speed to have time to look ahead for another opportunity to cross the meandering rut which was now crowding me off the left side of the trail.  When I reached the bottom I was surprised at how easy the descent had been.  I wondered if the trail was in better shape or if my bike was just that much better than the one I was riding when I last thrilled myself on this trail.   

Looking back up Judy's Jump Off (it looks amazingly unimpressive in photos)

Looking down The Windmill Trail

I felt pretty confident as I made my way home down the wash singletracks.

Today I rode with Rita.  This was the first we've ridden together since her mastectomy so I felt obligated to take it easy on her.  We rode at a comfortable pace up the wash and since I hadn't bothered to take my leg guards, I rode quite moderately on the way down as well.  The trail is a bit sandy this time of year and the sun was low in the sky making it difficult to see the pitfalls in the trail which is my way of making excuses for crashing where no man has crashed before. 

One minute I was tooling down the trail and the next I was sprawled in the rocks and the dusty weeds.  Rita rode up and said, "Why did you crash there?  Dang, with no leg and arm protection, that hurts!  So much for feeling smug about my riding skills.  With my confidence shaken, I proceeded down the trail at an even more sedate pace than before.  Rolling through another rocky section with insufficient speed, I found myself again nearly dumped off.  Completely discombobulated, I got off and walked for about fifty yards.  Rita kindly made no comment.

Anyway, the day got better.  I was trying out a new recipe and my sister came by on her way home from yoga.  I thought she would join us for dinner so I doubled the recipe but it turned out she had to get home to feed her kittens.  Luckily Guy called to tell us that he had finally broken free of the Witchy Woman's spell so he was free to serve as guinea pig. 

Guy is so easy to cook for, like my sister, he will eat anything.  The new dish was nothing to write about but Guy ate two helpings just to be polite.  I love that man!

October in Southern California is spectacularly hot and dry.  Today was typical with air so clear the mountains seemed to crowd the valley.  I heard Mike, on the phone, make plans to ride with Rory.  I inferred that Rory was going to drive over here to ride the wash singletracks so I asked Mike if he would mind if I tagged along. 

Rory showed up mid morning and the thermometer already read over eighty degrees, but since my limit is ninety, I added some ice to my hydration pack and got ready to go.  Somehow it was suggested that we ride out at Hulda Crooks Park and both Mike and Rory agreed that was what they wanted to do. 

There is a reason why you have never read about Hulda Crooks Park in my previous blogs.  The trails there are absolutely miserable.  Where they are not steep, they're sandy; where they are steep, they're hot and dusty; and where they are wickedly steep, they are treacherous, hot, rutted and unrideable for anyone with any sense of self preservation.  Knowing this, I still went along.

We set off up the first hot, dusty, dirt road with me valiantly determined to hang with the boys.  The road prudently skirts an empty flood control water retention basin but the boys immediately plunged over the edge onto a narrow trail that plummets to the bottom of the basin, then scales the opposite side just as steeply.  If I stayed on the road, I'd be a hundred yards behind before we even get warmed up so I quickly assessed the penalty for failing to attain sufficient momentum to make it up the other side.  I determined that I stood a good chance of making it and if I had to abort, I would have at least a fraction of a second to make other plans.  Without further debate, I pointed the Intense down the chute and held on for dear life.  Just feet from the top of the opposite bank I realized my rate of ascent was diminishing faster than the top was approaching.  I leaned out over the bars and pedaled with everything I had and barely cleared the rim.  Mike, who had been watching with some trepidation, commented dryly, "For a minute there I didn't think you were going to make it". 

We continued up the sandy road (did I mention it was hot and dusty too?) until the boys pointed out a narrow side canyon on the left with a skinny trail penetrating its opening.  It looked punishingly steep but it wasn't sandy AND it was shady.  With firm resolve I shifted down to my lowest gear and tried to keep from wobbling from side to side.  Not more than 200 yards up the canyon the trail left the shady cleft and began an ascent that had me pushing the bike.  Between switchbacks I managed to ride a bit which gave my hiking muscles a chance to recover but didn't do much for my gasping lungs.

By the time we reached the summit I was red faced and ready to throw up on Mike's shoes.  He wisely kept his distance while he described the downhill payoff for my suffering.  "After you drop off this precipice, you will come to a place where you have to walk", he started to tell me.  But after that section it was totally rideable he insisted. 

I had the camera so I rode down with Rory to the spot where I had to get off and stopped to film Mike riding the unrideable.  Unrideable?!  Heck, it was so steep and loose that I couldn't have walked it without my bike to maintain my balance!

The trail below this section would indeed be fun on subsequent rides but for me, the first time down was just okay.  To enjoy this trail you need to be comfortable with a lot of speed because the thrill is in ricocheting up the sides of the narrow canyon and swooping down to the bottom where there are whoop dee does, where with enough speed, you can catch some serious air.

I parted company with the boys when we reached the main side canyon, sending them to scale another hike-a-bike hill, while I headed back to the park and shade.  Later I mused aloud, "I was just trying to remember if I had any fun today...nope."  Mike laughed, he thought I was joking.

Another trip to Gooseberry Mesa has exceeded our expectations.  I had been less than enthusiastic about this trip since Vic and his contingent of riders from Yucaipa had backed out.  Fortunately, I had kept my reservations to myself, otherwise Mike would have probably canceled the trip.

Our usual camping spot was occupied by a couple from Oregon so we set up in the next site up the road with plans to move into our regular site the next morning when the couple moved out.  It turned out we liked the new site just as well so we were spared the inconvenience of moving.