One Tank Trips — Fruita, CO

One tank of gas. Five friends. 12 hours on the trail. 100 beers.

Springtime in Colorado is a torturous one for mountain bikers. The warm, vernal sun begins to loosen winter’s icy grip on our landscape while daffodils and singing sparrows are harbingers of what’s to come. The joy of summer is so close you can almost taste it. But often, in a flash, we’re reminded that the snow storms are far from over and the alpine trails are still locked away beneath a thick blanket of snow and ice. In these times of seasonal confusion, what’s a biker to do? While we could wait patiently for the warm weather to arrive for good, for many of us, the answer is clear: head to the desert.

If there’s one thing that we all agree upon, it’s that there’s nothing quite a last-minute bike trip. There’s just enough time to solidify plans and feverishly pack your gear, probably forgetting an item or two, all without staring at your calendar for weeks in anticipation of a good time. When it comes to planning a weekend adventure, all you really need are some similarly spontaneous friends and, most importantly, a cheap and accessible destination. Luckily, I had both of those things, and with a favorable weekend forecast, it felt like the time was right. The desert is a special place. Blazing sun, cacti, infinitesimal particles of dirt that find their way into absolutely everything, and miles upon miles of remote and rowdy trails. After a long winter, stoke was high for what was sure to be a great first weekend on the bikes.

The trail systems in Grand Junction and Fruita are, in a word, epic. Our trip started with a sunrise shuttle on Ribbon. The frost-covered piñion and juniper reminded us that summer definitely had not fully arrived just yet. After a brief warmup in the parking lot, we pedaled out, jockeying for position on the wide-open rock slab that encompasses the first section of trail, if you can call it that.

After a blazing descent, we arrived back at the trucks with hot brakes, empty water bottles, and very sore forearms. A few parking lot beers and high fives segued nicely into a mellow drive back to the camper parked at Rabbit Valley. Beneath the hot, midday sun, we poured some icy micheladas and lounged in hammocks for a brief siesta in preparation for our evening ride at Kokopelli.

Most mountain bikers have at the very least heard of Horsethief Bench, if not ridden it themselves. While this trail lacks some of the challenging drops that are found on the Lunch Loops system we’d ridden earlier, it makes up for that in spades with fast, flowing singletrack and million-dollar views. I always try to time my rides here for the end of the day because there’s nothing quite like looking out over the Colorado River drenched in warm, evening sunlight.

After a brief pedal up the dirt road from the trucks, we turned right onto Mary’s Loop and pedaled on toward the infamous Horsethief drop in. We took turns trying to clean the rocky mess that is the trail on this brief, incredibly challenging section. Most of us made it relatively easily to the last move but none of us were able to clear it completely. We made the call to accept defeat and moved on to some of the most beautiful desert singletrack I’ve ever seen.

Back at the Rabbit Valley, we ate carnitas tacos and drank tequila like it was our last day on earth.

As the sun began to sink toward the La Sal mountains on the western horizon, we hung our legs over the cliff and gazed at the mighty Colorado, several hundred feet below. Warm, evening light drenched the desert landscape as we drank trail beers and talked about everything and nothing, all at the same time. It would have been easy to sit there well into the night but we still had a few miles of trail to go so we saddled up and pedaled off.

Back at the Rabbit Valley, we ate carnitas tacos and drank tequila like it was our last day on earth. A long day of riding bikes will bring out the wolf in almost anyone and on this particular evening, our group was no exception. We revelled by the campfire deep into the night, laughing and carrying on in a way that was all-to befitting for the first bike trip of the year.

Now, the proverbial dust has settled and the powdery dirt has finally been (mostly) rinsed from everything I own. Hopefully this little story will inspire you and your crew to get out there and chase some stoke this spring — and beyond. Memories like these aren’t going to make themselves, so call a buddy and go find your next, great adventure. I promise, you won’t regret it.