When Traveling to Fruita, Don’t Forget the Bacon

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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.

The W-line doesn’t get a whole lot of traffic. More room for me and my new bike.
Went past the place where the Denver Donkeys play fooseball.
Had I been smart, I’d have been drinking beer. Prior proper planning prevents piss poor performance. I was piss poor.


They loaded up the car and high-tailed it west, over them thar mountains toward the desert.

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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.

My ride. Their rides. Fuck ’em.

Saturday morning, crack of dawn, crack a beer. Morning beer and bacon got the day off to a swimming start.

Good morning Fruita. This breakfast beer’s for you.
Grub, maps, and planning.
Right here you’ve got your main camping food groups: bacon, bacon grease, bacon smoke, and bacon fat.
Joe’s at the grill. Joe should be everyone’s life coach. He imparted a lot of wisdom this trip. I think we were all changed for the better.
She’s a good road tripper.

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.

D2, shortly before eating shit and grinnin’.
I have no idea what everyone’s looking at. Superissimo, eh?!!?
Ragged Edge scopes the scenery. If you haven’t seen this gent shred, you just don’t know.

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.

Who’s that middle manager rippin’ down the trails?


Life Coach, ballin’ down the trail and doling out middle management advice like it was free PBR at the local hipster dive.


“The trails are a judgment-free zone, D2.” Joe, telling it like it is. Ball-breaking’s for the campsite and beers after the singletrack ends.
How do we start rides? We start ’em with beers. How to we end rides? We end ’em with beers.

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.

All of us were feeling yesterday’s ride in our thighs, and some of us were feeling hte beers in our guts, but we rallied for some stellar shred at Lunch Loops. Ragged Edge rolls down, making it look easy. Ass shot for the ladies.
Life Coach Joe. He’s one tenacious mofo. If he didn’t make it up the first time, he did it ten more times til he got it. He is to riding bikes what D2 is to drinking Tecate.
When he wasn’t ripping the legs out of us on every climb west of the Rocky Mountains, 40 Hands was taking Joe’s lead and playing try, try again. The trails were steep, rocky, rad, and dry. Why not hang out and play?

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.







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About D2

I am a writer and a photographer. I never killed a man in Reno, but I once rode a bike through a casino in Vegas. Bikes are cool, huevos rancheros are for breakfast, whiskey is for dinner. Denver, Colorado, USA

3 Replies to “When Traveling to Fruita, Don’t Forget the Bacon”

  1. Pingback: When Traveling to Fruita, Don’t Forget the Bacon | PEDAL CANTON

  2. Loved to go through your detailed personal account of mountain biking. What pictures there man! Was just curious… have you tried out the trails of the Town of Eagle?