D2 and 40 Hands went to Fruita. It was good. Some of these photos are courtesy of a marginally sober 40 Hands. The rest are courtesy of a usually not sober D2.
Here’s how it went down.
D2 hopped the light rail from downtown Denver and rode the choo choo out to Lakewood, where he met up with 40 Hands.
They loaded up the car and high-tailed it west, over them thar mountains toward the desert.
First order of business was beers, burgers, and New York Rangers hockey. Then, a Tecate run and off to the campsite.Turns out we were camping next to the Yeti Beti ladies, and they were representing female radness. Very good. Very good indeed.
Saturday morning, crack of dawn, crack a beer. Morning beer and bacon got the day off to a swimming start.
Yeah, yeah, that’s all well and good. So did you guys just sit around with your bacon-coated thumbs up your asses, or did you ride bikes? Yeah, we did a bit of that. We were a foursome for the weekend, with D2 and 40 Hands joining the Ragged Edge and his cousin Joe, who will from now on be known as Life Coach.
If you go to Fruita, you know you are going to 18 Road to shred the trails you always see in the magazines. Who are we to argue? We spent hours upon hours in the desert heat and went up the whoops, down the whoops, and had some whoops on the whoops.
The trails are fast and loopy. You bomb down steep descents and keep enough speed to shred up the climbs, and boost it off the lips onto the other side. I was following Ragged Edge over said lip, but when I got to the other side (in mid air) the trail had vanished. D2 bailed. D2 fell. D2 got dirty. D2 got up and rode on, smile on face.
The trails ride on spines, and the scenery is otherworldly. It’s a trip outside yourself. It’s a quick WTF moment when you hit the brake ruts, but a quick Fuck Yeah moment as you take a peek at what’s to come. It’s best to just keep shredding.
That was day one. 18 Road trails are definitely worth all the hype they get, but Fruita’s got plenty more to offer. What many folks don’t know is nearby Grand Junction ain’t too shabby itself. On Sunday, we roused ourselves from a beerful rest, packed up, said adieu to our RV Park camping, and headed back east to Grand Junction. Lunch Loop trails were calling our names.
Summary: go to Fruita. And if you go to Fruita, go to Grand Junction. And if you go to Grand Junction, buy beer. And if you buy beer, drink it all, early and often.