Wintery trails and creeping clouds

I awakened to newly fallen snow with the sunrise blazing behind our pine forest. The freezing rain that coated the aspen trees yesterday was like glue that stuck the new snow to the branches. The pups bounded and I pedaled out into the winter day. Once we'd climbed a little, I saw that only high elevations were bathed in sunshine. Below us, clouds obliterated the plains and were creeping in our direction. The clouds creeping up from below indicates an inversion (learn more about inversions at Watching...). In an inversion, cold air, a cloud layer, and pollution are trapped at lower elevations (right photo). So, it's not a beautiful day below - cold, gray, humid, and bad air. At higher elevations like ours, we have sunshine and warmer temperatures.

I'd been considering a ride toward the plains, and after seeing this view, I was glad that I'd stayed in the mountains. I get asthma when I go into the trapped polluted air.

The temperature gradient was pretty extreme today. When I was at my lowest elevation, my camelbak hose froze, and I couldn't drink. After climbing for 20 minutes, it had thawed and I was shedding layers.

As I wound around the reservoir, I noticed some odd tracks that appeared to be from a child's plastic sled being pulled by two adults. I eventually caught up to the group. Two friendly guys were hauling a huge power auger (3 ft long, 1 ft wide) for ice fishing. They asked me how to get to the reservoir, and I didn't have good news for them. If they continued straight ahead, it was a few miles walk with an elevation loss of almost 1000 feet.

I suggested a different route that would be much shorter. Here's the part that mystifies me in retrospect - they said that they'd already checked the closer inlet and found no ice, only open water. So, they were wandering around, with no map, looking for ice. I didn't ask, and I wish that I had, why they *needed* ice to fish. Couldn't they have fished on the open water? I'm sure that they were as mystified by me, riding a mountain bike through snow - so we're even. However, I'm still wondering...

I was glad that my worst fear about the sled tracks was wrong. When I first saw the sled tracks, I was afraid that I was going to find elk poachers - which I've run across in that vicinity in the past. I definitely didn't want to catch poachers hauling out their kill when I was in an isolated area with no one else around. I've had poachers on my mind since talking with my fellow elk-watching friends last night. They haven't seen the huge bull elk from 'our' herd recently either. It's possible that we he's wandering solo now that the rut is completely over. Or, he might have died from natural causes. The dominant bull elk often doesn't survive the following winter because he depletes his energy so completely during mating season.

During my ride, I saw that the main elk herd had vanished but a male-dominated splinter group was grazing a couple of miles from where the main herd had been.Last night, my friends and I speculated about how an elk herd maintains genetic diversity even if the most dominant bull fathers many of the calves in a year. We surmised that the younger males wander and join new herds. Indeed, in the elk behavior books that I've read, the anecdotes about lone elk or small groups traveling long distances all involve males. I plan to keep trying to find the answer to this conundrum.

By later in the day, it was obvious that unsettled weather would continue to dominate - but unsettled weather paints the most beautiful sunsets.

Stronger than I thought

The animals came out of hiding today. A fox (left) and a bobcat (right) traveled a narrow path shortly before my dogs and I rolled along the same path. It's astounding how much bigger my dog's paw print is than the fox's track (top). My dog, R, was galloping like a goofy puppy when he made his sloppy track. In contrast, the fox moved carefully, leaving precise tracks.



The elk left the shelter of the forest and resumed grazing in the meadow.The elk herd winters in our area, roaming around a large area depending on the conditions. They sometimes wander 1500' lower than where I live when the snow is deep. For the past two winters, we've had a couple of feet of snow at this time of year, and the elk fled to lower ground. We didn't see them for a couple of months. This year, we have little snow, and they've been hanging around our meadows.

When they arrived near the end of this past November, there was a gigantic bull in their midst whose shrill bugles pierced the mountain quiet. This bull clearly still had high levels of testosterone running through his veins, left over from the mating season that occurred shortly before the elk migrated to their winter range. It looked difficult to hold his head up under the weight of his enormous antlers. Although the herd arrived when hunting season was still underway, this bull didn't become a trophy. I haven't been able to pick him out lately from among the more than 100-strong herd but I'm guessing that he's still there. I'm also guessing that a lot of the calves born in the herd this spring will carry his genes.

That thought led me to wonder how a herd maintains genetic diversity. If many of this year's calves are the huge bull's offspring, won't there be a high likelihood that his male and female offspring will mate with each other in a few years? Inbreeding generally hurts a species so I'm guessing that there's some interchange of individual elk among herds but I don't know for sure. Often, there's a smaller splinter group of elk, mostly males, who wander separately from the rest of the herd. Perhaps they move between herds. If anyone knows more about that conundrum, I'd be interested to hear about it.

Nature was constantly changing today. At the start of my ride, I had blue sky ahead of me but I saw threatening skies when I looked over my shoulder.





















Today's ride, like many of my rides, was 'backloaded' - I started out going downhill with the wind at my back and then climbed home while fighting the wind. Our location makes this pattern very common. However, today, when I reached the lowest elevation of my ride and turned to face the hardest part of the ride, my smallest chainring became impossible to use. There was such bad chain suck that the chain was getting caught between the chainring and the frame on almost every pedal stroke. So, I was facing 45 minutes of climbing without the use of my smallest chainring.

That thought made me nervous because my strategy for protecting my back is to spin easy gears. I was too deep within a trail network to phone anyone to bail me out. So, I focused on keeping my back stable and straight, and to my amazement, I pedaled home with little pain. I also climbed faster than I've climbed since last summer despite the soft mushy snow.

At the end of last summer, I was noticing on group rides that I was among the only people who could actually ride, rather than walk, super steep climbs. I think that I've unknowingly become stronger than I thought that I was.

It started raining during the climb - RAINING in January - and with blue skies shining through!

Thanks to the rain and warm temperatures, I didn't have a great time during the last couple of miles on our dirt road. The road had turned to liquid mud, and I had a stream of almost-freezing muddy water spraying in my face. I even felt dirty grit grinding between my teeth. I was riding along holding up my mitten to block the mud spray from hitting my face. Two different drivers thought that I was waving them down for help. I must've looked pathetic! However, it's another example of how nicely our neighborhood drivers treat bikers, giving us tons of room and stopping to help if needed.

When I got home, we changed my small chainring, and the chain suck problem was solved. But, I won't forget that I'm stronger than I think I am!

Winter gently carpets the forest

By yesterday afternoon, angry-looking clouds sweeping across the sky painted a stormy but colorful sunset. My dogs and I wandered through the fading light as we watched the return of winter. Our peacefulness was punctuated by an occasional practice recall. The dogs' enthusiasm was undeniable as they sprinted furiously through the forest, leaping over obstacles, to reach me.After the yesterday's tumultuous-looking sunset, I expected today's weather to be ferocious. Instead, the wind had died, the temperature had fallen well below freezing, and snow gently fell. The carpet of snow was thin so I headed out on my mountain bike with my dogs. The sun weakly burned through the clouds and snow, making a surreal atmosphere for riding.
K, the chocolate lab, worried about something unknown during our ride yesterday. In contrast, today, the snow made her goofy, and she frolicked joyfully with her brother, R.The warm weather from the past several days rendered the snow unpredictable. In some places, I floated over the top of the snow like it was dirt. In other places, the top crust collapsed, and my wheel fell through to the ground. After a collapse, the old snow held my bike upright, and I took advantage of the opportunity to use the camera timer and get a photo of me and K with my bike.













This morning, the elk herd filed away from the meadow near my house where it had grazed for the past 24 hours. The herd has habitual routes that it follows through the forest, and this morning's route was heading toward wooded areas at higher elevations. The elder females lead the herd in a line, usually single file in deep snow or several abreast in shallow snow. They leave an unmistakable path that's churned and trampled by their hooves (below, left).

















I think of these long-used routes as the 'elk super-highways'. Along these super-highways, the elk stop to eat the bark of aspen trees, which have deep black scars on their trunks as high as an elk can reach, and then no scars up higher (above, right).

One time, as I drove toward town, the herd decided to cross the road single-file. They acted like backcountry skiers crossing an avalanche chute - they crossed individually so only one elk was exposed to the danger of the road at a time. Each elk sailed over the fence on one side of the road, sauntered slowly across the road, and then sailed over the fence on the other side of the road. I waited a long time and counted almost 100 elk. The elk made me late for a meeting, but I had a unique excuse!


Today was a quiet day in the forest with no other humans in sight, as it usually is during winter weather. Except for the elk, most animals seemed to be hunkered down in their dens so the trails were like blank slates with only my tire tracks.

Quiet days like today encompass what I love about mountain biking - the solitude of traveling silently through nature, feeling like the forest and mountains are endless.

Winter on the horizon

The end of our springlike sojourn loomed on the horizon today. Angry clouds veiled the Continental Divide (left) and spilled toward the plains (right). A gusty wind blew off the Divide, portending the return of freezing temperatures and snow.

I started my ride with my pups, and my guardian dog, K, seemed worried. Indeed, she shadowed me for the entire ride, rarely leaving her 'post' just to my right and behind me. When I stopped to take photos, she sat and watched my back. Twice, she charged into the forest barking and growling but stopped about 30' in front of me. I never saw anything to concern me so I decided to trust that she'd watch over me. You can see her looking worried in the photo.

K decided to take on the role of my guardian when I had major back surgery a number of years ago. It was so major that the recovery period included 3 months of doing almost nothing, including no driving or riding in cars. Then, I had another 3 months of very slowly increasing my activity but I still spent most of my time at home resting. At that time, K was our only dog, and she and I spent many hours together at home. When my husband went back to work after taking some time off to take care of me, K and I were on our own for the daytime hours.

On our first day on our own, I dropped my 'reacher' within 5 minutes of my husband walking out the door, and I couldn't reach the floor to pick it up. I couldn't live without my reacher because I couldn't reach the floor or anything over about shoulder level with just my hands.

After shedding a few tears of frustration, I realized that K might be able to help me. I'd trained her to pick up toys and deliver them to my hand in the past. Maybe she'd pick up my reacher. So, I started dropping her toys near the reacher and rewarding her for retrieving them. Finally, I used her cue, 'take it', while pointing at the reacher. She nosed at it and looked up at me with disbelief. I tried again, 'take it', and she picked it up about 4" off the ground before dropping it. I gave her a jackpot of treats for that effort so that she'd know that she was on the right track. After a few more aborted attempts, she picked it up for me!

Over the following weeks, I trained her to pick a huge variety of objects for me - keys, spoons, shoes - anything that I might need her to pick up at some point. During this time, our relationship was transformed. She was no longer the carefree puppy but began to watch over me. She's continued to do so ever since.

I never figured out what K was worried about during our trail ride today. It might have been predators lurking in the forest because a large elk herd was very close to our house. My neighbors and I have noticed a link between the elk presence and seeing lion tracks. K didn't seem aware of the elk themselves, likely because they were downwind. After I dropped off the pups, I rode some trails that might be inaccessible tomorrow if it snows. (My Fatback should be here soon...). I've been reading a blog about nature and biking (Watching the world wake up), and it's made me notice some details about the ecosystem that I live in. We're in the Montane lifezone of the Rocky Mountains, and three types of conifer trees dominate: Ponderosa Pine, Lodgepole Pine, and Douglas Fir. However, we're close to the elevation where the Subalpine Life Zone starts, and it's dominated by Subalpine Fir and Engleman Spruce. I've started noticing that we have Subalpine enclaves of trees (right photo), particularly along cold gulches with streams. These gulches tend to be the 'dark' spooky areas when I'm out at dawn.














Along a frozen stream, I found what I think are some Engleman Spruce twigs and cones on the ground and then looked up to see that that I was in a subalpine enclave of trees.

I'm still learning about my small slice of the world after all these years.

Cats on the prowl at dawn

My day started early with a pre-dawn mountain bike ride. As I readied my bike, the dogs, who were still in bed, erupted into furious alarm barks. I'd intended to leave quietly without awakening anyone because the dogs don't go on pre-dawn rides with me. Their furious barking heightened the slight nervousness that I always feel when heading out into the completely dark woods.

As I rode away from our door, my bright head light picked up a pair of silvery white eyes about 20 yards away. In my experience, only cat eyes reflect a silver or green color. Coyotes and deer eyes usually reflect some red. At least I now knew why my dogs were barking.

The eyes stopped me dead in my tracks, and I pulled out my large pepper spray cannister that projects 30'. As I rapidly assessed the eyes, I thought that they seemed too low to the ground and too close together to be a lion. I guessed that they were bobcat eyes. However, I needed to be certain before riding off into the darkness leaving myself vulnerable to being stalked from behind. I decided that if it was a lion, I'd slowly back up into the house. If it was a bobcat, I'd go on my ride.

I slowly walked my bike toward the silver eyes, trying to get the animal to turn sideways so that I could see him in my light. I had a stab of pure fear as the animal took a step or two toward me. We both paused, and then he turned to his left and walked across my path. He had a short tail, splotchy tan and black fur, and a small stature. He was probably about half the size of a Labrador. With a flood of relief, I decided that he was definitely a bobcat, and he was leaving.

I stood paralyzed in the dark trying to decide if I still had the guts to head out on the trails or if I wanted to start on the roads instead. I convinced myself that the odds of being attacked by an animal were much smaller than the odds of being hit by a car (despite my great lighting system). Having re-found my courage, I clipped my feet into my pedals and rode onto the snowy trail.

During the bobcat encounter, I was too preoccupied to try to snap a photo of the eyes but the one on the right shows how brightly my light illuminates the trail and also bobcats.

After I overcome my reticence to go out in the cold darkness, I love my dawn rides. The world changes before my eyes as the sun rises. At the instant when I took the photo on the left below, the reddish rocks next to me were a glowing deep purple color, as they reflected the colors of the sunrise. Gradually, the view to the east became even brighter and the sky itself was shades of purple.













About ten minutes later, I encountered a magical sight - the elk herd spread out across a meadow with a snow-capped mountain awash in alpenglow in the background.After riding across a frozen creek and along some dark trails, I pedaled eastward up a hill and the sun was like a beacon shining in my eyes while illuminating a rocky ridge behind me.













Shortly later, I spun by home and picked up my Labrador, K, for a short ride. All of the spookiness of the trails had evaporated in the light of the sun. As we left the house, K ran directly to where I'd seen the bobcat and sniffed his tracks. I wish that I could discern scents with a dog's power for just a day - it would be amazing to be able to know so much from scents alone.

I don't think that my preoccupation with lion encounters is unfounded. I see lions about twice a year, and I see signs of lions more often. When I searched a website that tries to list all human-lion encounters that are reported in the media, a remarkable number of the Colorado encounters occurred close to my home. In fact, an entire book, 'The Beast in the Garden', is dedicated to human-cougar interactions on the Front Range, and several of the reported incidents took place within a few miles of my home. Given how much time I spend in the woods, I strive to be lion-aware without letting lion fear control me.

I truly love living in the midst of a forest full of animals, even if some of them might view me as prey.

A change in leadership

At the time that Barack Obama became president, I was riding my mountain bike through a grove of aspen trees. As the clock hit the appointed time, I stopped and snapped a photo. I wanted to remember exactly where I was at that moment. I thought about the fact that aspens are among the longest lived organisms on Earth. All the trees in one grove are linked by roots and are one organism. The roots under the grove can sprout new trees (clonal reproduction) but the individual trees are part of one organism. As an organism, an aspen grove can live for thousands of years. Consequently, the aspen grove surrounding me at inauguration time today might have been there before slavery, the civil war, and Martin Luther King. In fact, it might have been alive before humans lived in this area.













After I coasted down the snowy hill from the aspen grove, I rode toward home. A beautiful, very large, sign made by a child had just been put out by the road (above, right).

Today was another spring day in mid-January. I discovered that my 'hallucinations' of buds on the aspen were *not* hallucinations. In the past few warm days, the buds have grown to such a size that I could even photograph them! Apparently, these are 'winter buds' and are not abnormal. I hope to research this phenomenon.

After yesterday's energetic and joyful ride, today I was mellow. I rode easily around the trails with my dogs, K and R, and they seemed mellow too. We dropped R off at home (still taking it easy on his elbow), and K and I continued.

K and I occasionally encounter herding-type dogs who torment K by chasing us on the trails while barking hysterically. For most of her life, K has been friendly but easily scared. So, she'd meekly put up with this obnoxious behavior. Then, last spring, we discovered that K had very low thyroid levels and began supplementing with thyroid hormone. The change in her mental outlook was astounding. For example, she started playing with other dogs in training class rather than hovering near me during playtime. She approaches kids and other dogs on the trail with a confident demeanor rather than a scared one. She goes out on the deck without staring at the cracks like they're going to eat her whole.

One recent change isn't so good. Sometimes when we see herding dogs charging at us, K gives a warning display including a forward-leaning posture and teeth-baring. This behavior usually deters the other dog. Thus, from K's viewpoint, it's a stunning success. However, I'm not so sure - she might try acting super confident with the wrong dog and get beaten up.

Today, I tried something new. As the dog charged, I hopped off my bike and planted myself and my bike between K and the dog. It worked - it slowed the dog who then returned to his calling human. K remained relaxed behind me and gave me a look that seemed to say, "I've been waiting for you to take charge so that I can relax.". You can see her relaxed face immediately after the incident in the photo. I gleaned this idea from a Patricia McConnell book, and I plan to keep doing it. I don't want K to make a habit of aggressive-looking displays.

Later in my ride, I saw what looked like a pair of bear tracks in the sand. I've read that bears occasionally come out of hibernation during warm winter weather. However, I've never seen it around here. But, I also don't remember having such a prolonged warm phase in January so anything's possible. I hope none come around our house because we turn off our electric fence surrounding our bird feeder system in winter to save electricity.

On the right, you can see a cave entrance that I frequently pass on my mountain bike. Although I've read that bear dens are usually quite different from this cave, I always imagine a bear sleeping in the cave during the winter. I've never climbed up to look inside because it's on private property. I wonder who's in there. My hiking friend thinks it's a lion's den. We may never know.

The Fierce Urgency of Now

"The fierce urgency of now". This phrase is frequently uttered by our soon-to-be president and resonates down to my core. Our president-elect uses it in reference to urgent national and global issues. For me, it's much more personal.

For example, yesterday, as I started my ride, I was ailing. Within the first quarter mile, I felt a searing pain in my shin. As a person experienced with spinal nerve pain, I knew that there was nothing wrong with my shin. Rather, something was wrong with my spine. It was a white-hot searing pain that brought tears to my eyes.

I kept pedaling and paid attention to my back posture. I realized that I was breaking one of my physical therapist's cardinal rules - keep my spine as straight as possible. I'm supposed to imagine that I have a yardstick held against my spine. My job is to keep my entire spine constantly in contact with the stick regardless of what the rest of my body is doing. Instead, I was riding with a rounded lower back. Gingerly, I tried straightening my back, and the pain eased. I rounded it again and the pain seared. OK - I'd figured out how to control it. So, I kept riding. But, that searing spinal pain was like a warning shot. It reminded me that my passion of mountain biking in the woods with my dogs could go away in an instant.

I've lost other sports that I love - telemark skiing, running, backpacking, and the list goes on. Consequently, seeing our local ski area on the horizon is painful for me - I loved telemark skiing. I cannot lose mountain biking. I absolutely cannot.

In fact, I had another problem yesterday, and that was endometriosis pain - a dull unrelenting abdominal pain. I've had endometriosis since I was a teenager, and I've had seven abdominal surgeries to control it. The last round of surgeries gave me peace from the disease for a few years. But, it's back.

I woke up this morning, and nothing hurt. The fierce urgency of now.

I went out and I rode like it was my last day on the bike for the rest of my life. I had a blast. I rode hard, and at times, all that I could hear was my own breathing and all I could see was the trail in front of me. I don't know for sure that I'll be able to bike like this next week or even tomorrow - indeed nobody knows what'll happen to them in the next minute. I'm angry and sad that my health has taken away some things that I love but it's also taught me about the 'fierce urgency of now'. That's quite a gift.

My dogs have always had that gift - to live life to the fullest right now. On this crackling clear morning, they joined me on the trails for a while. Crazy R is trotting on an icy trail in the left photo and happy K trotting on a dry trail in the right photo.



Today, I tried out Lion's Gulch again, and, unlike a few days ago, I was able to pedal the whole way up the packed snowy road rather than trudging next to my mountain bike. I was reminded yet again of the special time when my friend and I saw a mountain lion cub on this 4wd road. We spotted him basking in the sun on the road, likely awaiting the return of his mom from hunting. Then, he loped up cliff to hunker down under two pine trees and watch us. He was small but he had the long elegant tail of a lion. A magical moment. I saw some neighbors hiking just above the gulch, and they expressed disbelief that I'd go into Lion's Gulch by myself. I may be strange - but I love being in the lion's territory.

At sunset, I wandered through the woods with my close friend and her chocolate lab, JB. My friend and I like to explore the forest at a similar pace, noting the details of nature and delighting in the antics of our dogs. A fine end to a special day.