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Colorado High!
BY TYLER DEWAAL
(continued)
He ran down the list of the nine rapids:
Upper and Lower Beaver Falls; the Nixons (‘cause their tricky); Guide Ejector (at least it’s not called Paying Customer Ejector); Double Knife; Purgatory; Hell’s Corner (not very comforting); Horrendous Left Turn; and Corkscrew. Six of these rapids are class four, the others are class three plus (the number signifies volume of water and height of rapid, among other things).
With each detailed description that we were sure to forget after the first rapid, Paul would explain just how were going to attack each rapid. “Don’t worry, I’ll go over each one again before we hit them.” Reassuring.
We were following a big group of beginners who stopped just short of Upper Beaver Falls during that first portion of river--the scenery was beautiful. The river-carved gorge exposed the awesome rock formations in various hues. And the height of the canyon and gradient of the rock faces (commonly used by local climbers) were distractingly gorgeous.
Embedded along the riverbank were remains of old railroad tracks and early mining shafts. This area of the Rockies originally drew prospectors from a Gold Rush in the 19th century; now it draws adventure-types and outdoor enthusiasts in both winter and summer. Colorado is easily one of the best year-round destinations in terms of the diversity of its offerings. Skiing and snowboarding among many other sports are of course popular in the winter, but the summer brings the melted snow for whitewater activities, and reveals landscape that is perfect for hiking, camping, mountain biking, and rock climbing.
“Joe, you ready for this?” I rhetorically asked.
“Let’s do it!”
The rapids were intense! Just before you head into the bubbling rapid, you think to yourself, There is no way we are staying upright, and that’s where the adrenaline kicks in. We came close a handful of times to flipping, but we paddled hard and Paul guided us just where we needed to be. He knew the river intimately, including all of the nuances of each rapid or obstruction. Once, we found ourselves stuck in the middle of Hell’s Corner, and our raft began filling with water to the point where it was pretty much submerged; the four of us shifted around, hoping to jar the vessel loose. At one point I thought we were going to utilize our nice lifejackets, but after about 30 seconds, we managed to extricate ourselves off the rock. It was a close call.
This particular set of rapids on Clear Creek came one right after another, giving little time to catch your breath. Just as soon as we would get out of one rapid, we had to hurriedly paddle to one side of the river in order to make the right approach for the next. We worked well as a team and were able to move the boat just where we needed to. Our strength-to-weight ratio was favorable, and at the end of the crazy run of waves and rapids, Paul said, “You guys are one of the strongest teams I’ve guided this year.” Of course, Paul, we are HARDCORE ADVENTURE BUFFS!!! C’mon!
* * *
“Hey Ben, nice to meet you,” I sincerely offered.
“Howsit goin’!” Joe chimed in.
“Good, good. You guys ready to hit some trails?” Ben, our guide for the morning, didn’t seem worried about the thunderclouds overhead. He looked like the stereotypical outdoor thrill-seeker, and though he definitely likes that scene, this guy is not a one-dimensional ski bum. He plans to get a Master’s in education--and meanwhile, he is teaching Social Studies to Middle School students and building confidence in young kids by giving them mountain bike instruction, all the while guiding wannabes (my word, not his) down a ski mountain on a mountain bike.
Fifteen minutes later and under clearer skies, Ben and Joe and I were snaking our way down Long Trail, one of the many downhill mountain biking trails in the area, making our way over big rocks and tree roots, sometimes at high speeds. Like our rafting trip, we were hoping not to get “ejected” from our mode of transport.
When I first heard that Winter Park (located in Frasier Valley, about 80 miles West of Denver) is considered the mountain biking capital of the US, with over 700 miles of mountain biking trails, I didn’t really picture flying down a mountain on a full-suspension, wide-tired, 9-gear, heavy-duty-framed bike. And I also didn’t think riding a chair lift would be involved--but in Colorado, the term “mountain biking” has multiple connotations. True, most of the mountain biking in Frasier Valley is what you normally think of, but as challenging as that is, it just doesn’t compare to the rush you get popping off jumps high into the air or navigating banked turns at high speeds.
Long Trail was a good choice for our first run so we could get the feel of the brakes (which you are practically using the whole time) and find some scenic vantage points. It was more technical (still very fast!) at the top of the run, and then near the bottom, we hit a sequence of about 10 jumps that Ben and some other trail engineers had built up along the trail to liven it up. At one point, you hit one jump after another- as soon as you land, you’re hitting the next ramp and flying through the air. The bikes are perfect for getting air, and once Joe and I had a bit of confidence, we were taking off of as many jumps as we could.
With our confidence brimming, we took our bikes back up on the chair lift, and decided we were ready for Downhill, the most difficult trail of the mountain, but aptly named.
You start going pretty much straight downhill (sounds logical, but why don’t mountain bikers use the same methodology as whitewater guides when naming trails? Would “Human Scab” or “Full Body Cast” deter people at all? Something to think about…). Once you pick up a lot of speed, you have to hit the brakes and make a sharp left turn.
“A few days ago, I was with a group of clients,” Ben started, “and it was kinda dark, but one guy didn’t turn in time and just kept going down the mountain.”
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“He had to bail out, man,” Ben replied with a slight chuckle.
Oh. Crap.
Luckily, or perhaps with a stroke of divine intervention, we successfully executed the left turn. Downhill Trail had a lot more jumps than Long Trail, and by now, Joe and I felt “experienced” enough to try most of them, gaining more and more height and distance each time. It was thrilling to defy gravity while at such a high speed--I’ll admit right here that I couldn’t keep myself from letting out a manly, primal “whoo-hoo!” every once in a while. Some of the jumps sent me flying over a little stream or a bed of rocks, requiring lots of speed, but for the faint of heart, there was a smooth alternative. Like the previous run, Downhill was very scenic; unfortunately, I spent most of my time looking at the trail ahead so I didn’t wipe out.
Downhill culminated in some features (man-made obstacles) that I didn’t dare attempt, but Joe and I enjoyed watching Ben strut his stuff, including a 20-foot drop-off. I took the safe alternative--walking my bike down the steep hill. Joe was about to try the impossible jump, but not before Ben’s helpful warning:
“Uh, I wouldn’t try that.”
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