This summer we went on our first ever full supported and catered mountain bike ride.  The food, the water, the groover, our gear, all rode in a truck and we only had to ride our bikes.  One hundred miles.  Telluride to Moab.

Now, I am a strong hiker.  I can climb out the 3,800 vertical feet on South Kaibab in three and a half hours.  Three, if I am trying to show up my kid. On a bike, not as fast.  Not slow.  And I can pedal all day long. But not as fast as the Colorado racers who were vying to see who could get into camp first every day.  Nor the people who had just finished the Ride the Rockies.

So I rode alone.  A lot.  Almost all day, in fact.  Pedaling madly along dirt roads, figuring that if the lead group were going to change routes, they would, in fact, wait for me.  Which, of course, they did.

The truck was behind me.  When Mr. Guide was driving it was RIGHT behind me.  Revving its engine.  When Ms. Guide was driving it was discretely out of sight.  Now and again the truck would ask permission to pass so as to get ahead and prepare lunch or set up camp, and I graciously agreed.  Then the guide not driving that day would drop behind and ride with me.

And I would say, pathetically, "I am a really strong hiker.  Honest! I could beat most of these people out of the Canyon were I back in my own territory."

And they would smile blandly and reply "Oh, you're doing great!"

Okay, I work taking people on hikes in the Grand Canyon.  I am paid to say things like that. That is MY line!  So I know YOU are being PAID to smile blandly and encourage me.

I understand that I was probably doing very well indeed compared to some of the riders they get.  In fact one gentleman backed out of the trip, asking for a shuttle to bear him away on day three.

Nor does it help that I don't like riding downhill.  Especially fast.  Especially on dirt roads with loose gravel, loose sand, sharp turns, and 2,000 foot drop-offs.  (Of course once we rode through the herd of incontinent cows, the sand attained a nostalgic quality.)  

Suffice it to say that I feel more kinship with my plodding hikers now.  I actually do say, "you're doing great" and mean it.  I take people in for their first backpack ever.  So, they take approximately twice as long to get out as I do, and yes, they are doing great.  But now I will understand when they don't necessarily believe me when I tell them so.

Riding down into Gateway:  I walked this part.

On the Uncompadre Plateau

Last night's camp above Moab