Springtime Mountain Biking Mecca

(Amy Schenck's excursions column is published twice a month in the Jackson Hole News&Guide)

Sand snaked between my tires. I wobbled, took a deep breath and regained balance. Carefully, concentrated, I let my wheels pick up speed. A large, deep ditch – akin to a crevasse – crept up to my right. Rocks and gravel extended to my left.

Panic. Breaks. Hard.

Next thing I knew I was flipping over my handle bars into that dreaded crevasse, a terrified high pitched shriek piercing the air.

That was day one on my mountain bike.

I walked away with a half of dozen bruises, a banged up knee and a rattled confidence level – but no true damage.

Day one wasn’t supposed to go that way.

I was camping near Grand Gulch in Utah with my family and boyfriend. My boyfriend, an avid mountain biker, and I decided to go for a cruise along a flat gravel road. It would be a good way for me to get a feel for my new bike, we concluded. And along the way we could look for the various 700-year-old ruins tucked into cliffs.

But then I spied an interesting four wheeler road that split off from the main road and wound up the side of the canyon.

Why don’t we go up that? I suggested.

Let the record be clear: the reason I crashed on a steep, difficult, sandy road had nothing to with an overly amped boyfriend pushing his girlfriend beyond her capabilities. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was me who urged every single challenge we took on that day.

A few days later, after weathering a May blizzard in Southern Colorado, my boyfriend and I were passing through Moab.

The plan was to hightail it home to the Tetons, but blue skis and 80 degree weather beckoned. Drinking coffee and basking in the summer-like conditions of Utah’s bustling adventure sports capital, we decided to stay for the night.

We stopped in to a bike shop to get some beta on where to ride. I made it a point to stress that I was beginner and was in search of something mellow.

We were pointed to two places: Dead Horse Point State Park and Klondike Bluffs.

Dead Horse Point State Park has two small loops and one large loop of mountain bike trails that are all connected: Intrepid Loop, Great Pyramid Loop and Big Chief Loop, respectively. The latter loop is rated a medium difficulty while the first two loops are rated easy.

The trails trace the rim of a spectacular layered canyon, a smaller looking version of the Grand Canyon. We got on the trails in early evening, as low angle sun cast magnificent shadows.

In terms of sheer beauty the ride is unparalleled.

We picked our way along the trails. There were many sections that tripped me up at first, but with a heaping dose of determination I was able to ride nearly all of them on my second, third or fourth attempts.

The technical section of the trails opened up into a long, flat, smooth, loopy ride. Following my boyfriend’s lead, I pedaled hard, picking up speed. We wove around trees and wildflowers in a sort of rhythmic dance.

And for the first time I got it … why mountain biking is so addicting.

For a long time, I was certain that mountain biking was too scary and difficult to even learn. So to feel that small measure of success was nothing short of invigorating.

The next morning, after camping on beautiful perch, we pedaled the Klondike Bluffs trail. The trail has a mixture of technical sandstone riding and easy dirt road riding. More difficult loops named Baby Steps swing out from the main trail.

In typical fashion, I suggested we ride up Baby Steps. I’d taken to uphill riding pretty well. A winter of relentless backcountry and skate skiing paid off in a solid level of cardiovascular fitness.

I powered up grippy rock slabs and on the downhill took to heart the lesson I learned from my first spectacular fall: Don’t be afraid to walk. It’s only day three.