Chronicles of a Mountain Biking REALTOR

CONTINUATION OF Chronicles of Rider Dave, Part III
By Dave Peck

Onward and Upward
By mid-morning the day is bright and I'm settling in to my saddle. The trail is sketchy, with mud-covered rocks and narrow, wet bridges, but my horse is sure-footed. A collapsed bridge forces us off-trail and through a creek. I ponder the possible fall of horse and rider, but we all make it across and continue on up the trail. A few minutes later I hear commotion behind me. Looking back, I see a horse with an empty saddle, bucking and gyrating. From my vantage point, I can't tell if the rider is being dragged behind or has been deposited a safe distance from those menacing hooves. Todd, the fallen rider, emerges from the grass, mad as hell but unhurt. I see that his horse is one of those surly-looking ponies-undersized, but strong and ornery. After another scrape between Todd and his mount, a more experienced rider volunteers to swap. Todd is most grateful.

We enter the forest. Trees crowd the single-track. While navigating a more technical section, I get brushed hard against the trees. It becomes evident to me that backcountry horsemen must be in constant danger of puncture wounds-the horse could drive the rider's leg right into a broken tree branch. One of the cowboys sees the potential for disaster and instructs us to put a firm hand on the tree and push away-a simple yet effective technique for preventing trailside impalement.

Base Camp & Ramshorn Lake
After a couple hours, we enter a sub-alpine meadow and see base camp in the distance. A welcome sight. Within a few minutes the group has dismounted and is scoping out the site like curious scouts. I check the mess tent first and then the sleeping accommodations. The cowboy boss, Mike Belderrain, gives us a choice of a cozy cot and woodstove-heated wall tent, or throwing down a sleeping pad in a pup tent. Some eschew both luxuries and declare their intent to sleep under the stars.

Next, I see that the toilet tent is outfitted with double latrines-I wonder who's going to ride shotgun next to me. I know that our city friends aren't going to want to buddy up in this bathroom. Their idea of camping is a stocked hotel suite with steam showers and room service. For my part, I'd rather stroll into the woods when it's time to go.

I'm famished so I return to the mess area to see if lunch is ready. While waiting, I admire the iron cook stove, stocked open shelving, and well-seasoned picnic table. The hungry travelers scarf down sandwiches and chocolate treats, then most remount for a late-afternoon trip to Ramshorn Lake for fishing and sightseeing. Some of us choose to hike this leg for exercise and a change of pace.

Arriving at the lake is a captivating experience. A sea of wildflowers meets emerald green, mirror-like water with a backdrop of dramatic mountains. Like a pearl inside a shell. I'm fascinated by the towering rock battlements to the east, and I grab the binos to scan the mountainside for wildlife. I spot a few bighorn sheep, but they're blended in so well that I wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me. Patches of snow glisten in the setting sun. Two of the guests change into some curious-looking waders and waddle into the lake with rods in hand.

Arriving back at camp, we're greeted by the aroma of campfire cooking. Our cook has proven himself a worthy backcountry chef: we devour scrumptious cutthroat trout appetizers and delicious T-bones cooked over a wood fire. I've eaten in lots of restaurants, but I don't think any place I've been can match this atmosphere.

TO BE CONTINUED