Somewhere in amongst waiting for Megan’s bike to be finished at the workshop, our Sunday plan of a family ride higher up the La Sals was scuppered when we were told there was still snow up there. Rather hastily, Megan & I decided it was time for our daytrip to Fruita (across the border in Colorado); Alex didn’t have too much choice but to agree – unfortunate, as he had to drive the hundred-odd miles each way. The original plan was to stay a night or two in Fruita to get more of the riding in. But a combination of the weather being slightly poorer than Moab, loving Moab too much and a lethargy when it came to decamping & recamping twice (not to mention not wanting to give up our prime tent site) meant it was just a daytrip for Fruita. I didn’t mind too much, as I was having too much fun exploring Moab.
I don’t think we started riding until after one o’clock – but I rather stupidly declared I wanted to ride every trail there. That never worked out as Megan & I went out & did Western Zippity downhill fighting quite a wind – that would have been better (comparatively) as an uphill I think. I next did a lap with Alex on Zippity Do Dah & decided I had to do it again as Megan couldn’t miss out. So that was the end of my scheme, but I got to do Zippity twice & it was great fun – I pleased myself by riding a couple of steep downhills with sketchy entries.
Good fun, well made singletrack – & it was so smooth compared to the rocks of Moab; that was a nice respite as my arms had taken a bit of a pounding on Porcupine Rim, not to mention a grimace forming every time I sat on my saddle. It turned out to be my biggest day of riding for distance & climbing (but a lot of that was just riding up the gravel road to the top of the trail centre) of the trip – but by no means the most rewarding. I did get to do all the western trails, & I’m pretty sure I did most of the eastern ones on my previous visit. Not sure about Alex, but Megan & I were pretty tired by the end of the afternoon.
Look at all that singletrack winding its way down
What you can’t see is the almighty wind trying to blow me off the ridge; it got a bit hairy in more exposed places
We headed into Fruita to feed the ravenous; unfortunately Jeremy’s pizza recommendation was closed on a Sunday so we hit the brewpub – of which Finn was having none. He seemed to like Mike the Headless Chicken though, perhaps just because he got to climb things to stand next to it.