Location scouting for a Johnny Depp movie? Not so much.
These guys get it - put an awesome route together, ping some contacts for potential product, do an awesome job broadcasting it - how awesome of a job? Like so awesome I don't have to do any work. Poof! Stunning photos by James Adamson of Drop Media. Ta-Da, insightful reflections by none other than Kurt Gensheimer, known by his pen name, the Angry Single Speeder. Pretty much leaves me nothing to do... so I've written in tasteless captions.
Kurt's words, James' stellar shots (@_james_ adamson_ )
I think I know this one. It's the 4,000 foot deep canyon he's talking about.
The Commute Day 2
I don’t use the word epic very often to describe a day of riding, mainly because it’s a completely
hackneyed term in mountain biking circles. But today’s ride from Soda Springs to Foresthill was epic in
every sense of the word. Mind blowing views atop Royal Gorge, towering terrain with 4,000 foot deep
canyons, blackened burn areas, legendary trails dating back to 1850 and the final few miles ridden in the
dark in a complete downpour made the 67 miles and 9,700 feet of climbing a day we won’t soon forget.
Deep thoughts. Trail Boss Tire. Justin Schwartz.
What truly befuddled us was the fact that even though we started at nearly 7,000 feet elevation near
the crest of the Sierras and finished at 3,000 feet in the foothills, somehow we ended up climbing almost
as much as we descended, much of it on the legendary Western States Trail. The climbs were brutal at
times. The 1,800 foot vertical of hike-a-bike in 1.2 miles out of Last Chance Canyon was utter
punishment. The 2,000 feet of climbing in 2.5 miles out of El Dorado Canyon wasn’t much better. But all
that pain paid off huge dividends in the descent department. Steep and rocky with dozens of
switchbacks, Western States Trail is a rare treat that most mountain bikers will never get to sample. As a
bonus, aside from a hunter in a gunny suit, we didn’t see a single human on trail all day long.
Jamming through Foresthill in a complete downpour at dusk, Justin and I somehow lost James, who
didn’t know where we were staying. Completely drenched, cold and muddy, Justin and I made it to Sean
Allan’s house, our gracious host for the night. We waited anxiously for 20 minutes, hoping James would
find his way. Eventually he showed up with a huge shivering muddy grin. It was a monster day, and we
made it in one piece.
During the apocalypse, bikes will win. Especially with Trail Boss tires.