Bike-packing Trial Run; Success!

By ten o’clock Wednesday morning the sun had warmed the desert air and brought all to life.  The fierce winds of the night before continued to howl from the north-west.  Bags packed, bellies full and spirits high, it was around that time that Reilly and I gave a nod and slowly rolled out the Ghost Town for a two-day, ninety mile bike-packing trip.  Noodling casually towards the first piece of local trail, we chatted about how the bikes would handle on the single-track.  All that extra weight[about 25 lbs] might make climbs particularly arduous or cause the front wheel to wash-out on soft corners.  Or.., well, we just weren’t sure.  All we could do, was ride.

During the course of the day we found that while we were seeking lower gears sooner for the various climbs, everything that was normally ridable was still so.  In fact, on some short, steep climbs we found the extra weight helped the rear wheel dig-in, providing extra traction.  We soon realised that with our centre-of-gravity now elevated, when leaning the bike into corners the extra weight could cause the front wheel to slide out from underneath of us.  That just meant having to keep the bike a bit more upright on some corners.  And while the weight did make bunny-hoping more difficult–or less productive–we were still able to drift over rocky sections as before.  Not having panniers, all the weight was centred tight along the bikes’ fore-aft axis which kept them well-balanced.  Riding no hands was as simple as always.

Other lessons learned; during one particularly rocky descent, the full water-bottle mounted under Isabelle’s down-tube bounced free.  That will have to be resolved.  Losing water on a ride–especially in the desert–is a big no-no.  Isabelle’s Lefty suspension fork is typically kept at 150 psi.  Knowing this would be insufficient, I pumped it up to about 165 psi before departing Wednesday morning.  I still found there to be about an inch of sag in the fork while riding, so I’ll have to work on finding the correct pressure when riding fully loaded.  Related to the fork sag, when riding through steep ‘V’ shaped ravines or culverts, the fork would nearly bottom-out and the handle-bar bag would rub against the rotating front wheel, making the sound of cardboard farting.  When sitting way back of the saddle to negotiate those precipitously steep rocky down-hills, my thighs did contact the large seat-bag preventing me from getting as back and low as I might need.  While not having to carry cooking gear was a plus, being without coffee Thursday morning was painful.

The Wednesday ride had us fighting the wind nearly all day.  When we arrived at the camp-site we’d discussed staying the night, it was just 3 pm and the wind was still raging from the north-west.  “What are we gonna do for the rest of day, just sit here and stare at each-other?”  Reilly asked?  “If we ride to Madrid House [ruins along the creek], we’d be out of the wind and there’s water.”  With that, it was decided.  We slugged our way against those winds the 7 miles to Sauceda Ranger Station where we chatted with Park Superintendent Barrett Durst; a young, motivated, mountain-biking Ranger whom we all like very much.  From there, it was another ninety minutes to Madrid House.  However, the wind was now at our back and we had plenty of descending to enjoy.

With camp set and food quickly consumed, we were soon enveloped by a moon-less yet star-filled sky.  As I lay there engrossed in its silent majesty, cottonwoods gently rustled and the creek gurgled; birds crowed and animals could be heard approaching this scarce water source.  Laying there, rapt in both my sleeping bag and the night’s beauty, a simple question escaped my lips; “how could anyone want anything more than this?”

Thursday morning we woke, ate, packed and were on the bikes shortly after 9am.  Not ten minutes later did we come across a group of silver-haired hikers who asked where we were riding to.  “Terlingua” Reilly responded, “started in Colorado!”  As they stood dumbfounded, we rolled-on laughing to ourselves.

An hour later we were at the Park headquarters, dropping off the Texas Parks & Wildlife Dept. satellite phone we found on the trail the day before.  After pretending a can of Coke was cold coffee, we rode the final 14 miles back home feeling strong, happy and invigorated by our two-day adventure.  Already we’ve begun to discuss the next multi-day trip.

Mountain-biking the middle of no-where to camp under the stars.  How could you want anything more.

A quick stop at the bread-truck.

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The sun sets and the stars appear.

Homeward-bound