Kokopelli's Trail

A
cyclist’s legs are the opposite of cars when it comes to miles. The more miles you get on your legs the more
efficient and reliable they will be. My
brother had this painfully demonstrated to him last weekend while we rode all
142 miles of Kokopelli’s Trail from Fruita, Colorado to Moab, Utah.

Don’t
get me wrong. Darren is a  fit
guy. He’s stronger than me in most
ways. He could probably bench press me
if I could hold still long enough for him to try, but alas, I’m ticklish. But you can not train for cycling in the
weight room. It’s my belief that my
brother just doesn’t have the base miles in his legs because he won’t ride to
work.

The
first twenty miles of Kokopelli’s Trail are fantastic single track. Instead of enjoying it I fell at least five
times while trying to climb technical sections.  Then I realized that the cleat
on my left shoe was loose. I tried to tighten
it but the threads were stripped so I had to ride the next twenty miles
unclipped. Mags let me borrow the bolts
from her shoes at lunch so I could continue.   

After
the first twenty miles the ‘trail’ followed gravel, paved and 4WD roads. There was some token single track near Cisco
and again above Fisher Valley, but the majority of the trail followed roads. 

Darren’s
knee started hurting somewhere around the thirtieth mile. Tenacity, pride, or fear of being stranded in
the desert, kept him going. His pain
slowed him down but he persisted. I
thought he might call it quits after lunch the first day. I hoped he would quit after lunch the second
day. I was getting tired of waiting for
him. Halfway up the second of three big
climbs on Sunday I actually stopped and took a thirty minute nap on the 'trail' while I waited for him.  I gave him some
of my water because he’d run out and left him behind again. I felt bad about leaving him but I didn’t
want to ride in the dark. One flat tire
and a broken chain later I finished in Moab on Sunday night with a total riding time of 15 hours 33 minutes. 

Two
hours after I finished, Mags and I drove back up the ‘trail’ and found Darren
on the final descent. I offered to drive
behind him with my high beams on so he could see while he finished the
ride. He was out of water again and had
been riding for thirteen hours that day. He called it good enough and climbed into the car. I noticed that his bike was still in granny
gear. He’d been riding downhill for at
least five miles, but hadn’t shifted into a bigger gear. Wow, I thought, he must be hurting worse than
I thought. I’m sure it hurt him worse to
not finish the ride.

I
was waxed, tired and grumpy as Mags drove us to our campsite for the night. I remember thinking that I would not invite Darren
on another long ride like this again. Then I remembered that I had invited three people to join me on this
ride, and Darren was the only one that showed up. He suffered immensely and didn’t complain at
all. He still made jokes at dinner.

Yeah,
I’d invite him again.