Fruita. Sounds delicious just saying it. But when you venture westward, go there and place your feet on the pedals, wheels in the track and ride; when you feel the moisture sucked out of your body; when the dust creeps in and the taste of the trail permeates your entire being; when you find yourself alone at twilight with the western desert on fire before your very eyes and a few miles of beautiful, empty trail still ahead; when you replenish at days' end in the company of friends old and new AND the next day presents a chance to do it all over again – only then will you realize this place is magical.

I am no gonzo MTBer or gear geek. Sure, full-squishy wonderbikes are de rigueur in Fruita (and the rest of the MTB world for that matter). I suppose they're nice. Maybe I should ride one sometime. But, you see, I love my 1X1, thank you.

This was my second time in Fruita for the Fat Tire Fest. My first trip out I almost took the bike with its rigid fork and all. Some friends talked me into installing a Reba. I can fully appreciate that slice of technology, but it never crosses my mind to bemoan a single gear. I don't find myself wanting to curse my way up the occasional steep climb I've had to hop off and walk. Admittedly, I chuckle to myself a little when a rider is trailside with a geared bike upside down trying to fix some drivetrain snafu. Sure, I help out, but after I gently rub it in that I haven't been experiencing any derailleur problems ... Some folks I've talked to dismiss singlespeeding as a dying fad or an outright exercise in futility. While I'll admit I pride myself in learning to do well many things others regard as senseless or impractical, I'd argue the Zen-like joy of singlespeeding is neither. But I don't need to convince you. Even though sometimes it seems to me that most of those left in the singlespeed mountain crowd have moved onto exotic materials and custom frames, I figure they're still grooving for the same reasons. They're grinning too when they fly past a geared rider on a climb or ride up on someone's fully suspended arse on a descent. Fancy singlespeeds that cost more than all the cars I've ever owned sure look purdy and I bet they ride nice, too. But I'll happily spend my money on beer and more bike bits. The 1X1 rocks – still, after all these years. I was reminded of that yet again in Fruita a couple of weeks ago. If you get the chance to go, do it. Just don't be afraid to run what you brung.

A view from Rustlers, the perfect casual wind down loop before heading back to the car.

Brother Nick showing us all how it's done aboard the Karate Monkey. On and off the trail, he was on his game all week.

You can check out more photos. (Sorry ... titles coming soon.)

Special thanks to Troy and Sarah, as well as the entire staff and crew at Over the Edge. Your hospitality, friendship and kindness are a big part of what make this grand industry of ours go 'round.

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It was on this date in 1927 that Charles Lindberg landed The Spirit of St. Louis at 10:22pm on Le Bourget Field, thirty three and one half hours after takeoff from Roosevelt Field in Long Island, New York, completing the world's first transatlantic flight. 300 people in New York witnessed his takeoff and thought they had seen a minor miracle occur, since his plane was so heavily laden with fuel it almost didn't make it off the ground in time to clear a string of telephone lines at the edge of Roosevelt Field. Upon landing, however, a crowd of 50,000 gorgeous women and 50,000 short, creepy men with pencil-mustaches and baguettes rushed his plane in jubilation (causing him to cut the engine post haste lest members of the teeming throng be chopped to mush by the propeller), and carried Lucky Lindy off the field on their shoulders. This feat was astonishing in its day, a marathon for Lindy and the marker of a major advance in industry and technology. Notable for our purposes is that airplanes were invented by bicycle mechanics. It was a scant 25 years to the day later that a little baby was born sporting a mohawk, lots of gold jewelry, and tons of attitude. Mr. T turns 57 today. As Emily pointed out, I pity the fool who don't know that. -----

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The completion of a new stove, early last week, prompted me to pack up the Pug and take the scenic route to work, incorporating an overnight stay along the river en route. The Pugsley was definetely suited to the low spots on the trail where river juice and a previous day's light rain had turned the riverbank soil into slick, brown gumbo. Epic Designs frame bags, an Old Man Mountain front rack, and minimalist, modified Axiom panniers gave me ample room to securely carry all my gear over varying terrain. When the sun dipped behind the horizon, I found a sweet site, 200 meters from the trail, and set up for the evening. Once again, my Hennessy Hammock was the chosen shelter, because it's a dependable vehicle to sweet dreams. It took me a couple years and some long, cool, sleep-deprived nights to figure out how to stay warm in this shelter when temperatures hover in the freezing range. But after a lot of experimentation with many kinds of insulation, I've found that the use of Hennessy's Undercover and Underpad, in conjunction with top and bottom quilts, creates one of the most comfortable beds I've used out of doors in the spring, summer, and fall seasons. A form-fitting, purpose-made underquilt is on the upgrade wish list. The newest stove, measuring 15cm in diameter x 30cm high, was positioned near the base of one of the trees supporting the hammock. I made this woodburner from three large coffee cans: 2 for the firebox, 1 cut apart for the door and miscellaneous bits. The firebox separates into 2 parts, so I can store my chimney, full Klean Kanteen, and rolled-up sitting pad inside it during transport. The internal pressure from the stored items keeps the stove from collapsing or denting when it is strapped to the top of my bike rack. It features an almost-airtight firebox, due to a close-fitting door and spotwelded construction, and a baffle to keep the flame from shooting directly up the chimney. Like my other stoves, this one is designed around the following criteria: * Low weight * Fast, tool-free assembly * Construction from low-cost or free, easy-to-find materials * Easy to transport on foot or bike * The means to boil water in a Klean Kanteen * Accommodations for my 130cm-tall roll-up stainless chimney I'm not concerned about the stove's ability, or lack thereof, to boil a liter of water in 5 minutes. I simply want to heat a small shelter or protected outdoor space with a small amount of wood, compared to an open campfire. If I get 500ml of water boiling in 20 minutes, I'm satisfied. The light and heat given off from one of these low-budget units adds to the camping experience, not unlike an open fire, while giving me the ability to control the combustion rate, focus the radiated heat, route the smoke up and away from my lungs, and keep the sparks confined to the firebox and chimney. The first firing was a success, but I have some fine-tuning and reinforcing to do before the next outing. This isn't the perfect stove, of course. It is, instead, a fast, inexpensive way to test design concepts in the field. The construction and design of the next stove will likely be much different than the current one. Eventually, I'll settle upon a list of specifications and features that will warrant the purchase of durable materials and justify the time investment required to build a stove that will last a number of years in the field. Good weather and an understanding spouse have allowed me to camp out one night per week for the last 4 weeks. I don't need to disappear for a week at a time. The 24-hour outings satisfy my desire to test/tweak my gear and enjoy some quiet time in the woods, without drastically disrupting my home and work life. If the weather forecast doesn't drastically change, I'll be back out there in a couple of days...making fire and geeking out on the design of the vessel that harbors it. -----

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I haven't seen much of southern Minnesota from the saddle, so I decided to ride down to the Dirt Burger hootenanny in Decorah, IA…about 290km southeast of home. The LHT, shod with 700 x 40mm Michelin City tires, was my trusty mule for the trip to and from Decorah. I had my 1x1 shuttled to the event, so I'd have a more suitable mount for the hilly single-track, baseball diamond bucketball, rogue night rides, and derby circle antics. I left Minneapolis around 3:00pm on Wednesday and rode toward Big Woods State Park, 85km down the road. My route took me on pavement and gravel, over hills and expansive prairies, through strip-mall littered-suburbia and, finally, into farm country. I arrived at the park around 8:30, filled up with water, and hustled to get my campsite organized before the sun completely set. After getting my gear squared away and making myself comfortable under my reflective-tarp lean-to, I cooked dinner, stoked the fire in the woodstove, and watched the incredible lightning show that kept the otherwise-pitch-black surroundings eerily and erratically lit until the wee hours. My stove weighs less than 1.3kg, including the chimney, so I don't mind toting it along on my outings. I'm always making modifications, and I look forward to field-testing the unit after each revision. The latest changes include relocation of the chimney to the front of the stove, the addition of a removable 75mm-tall pan at the bottom, and front draft holes. The efficiency of a stove, vs. an open fire, allows me to gather an evening's wood supply in 5-10 minutes. The 1.5m chimney keeps smoke out of my eyes and lungs. And I can save Esbit fuel tabs by cooking evening meals and boiling questionable water on the woodstove. I packed up Thursday afternoon and left Big Woods after a 2-hour hike over the park's hilly terrain. Relentless headwinds kept my average speed low, and I was nowhere near the day's planned 125k goal, Lake Louis State Park, as the evening light waned. I scrambled for a place to set up camp for the night. But after searching side roads for an hour and failing to find a suitable spot, I decided to keep on pedaling toward the park. It turned out to be one of my favorite parts of the trip. Traffic was almost nonexistent on old highway 56, the wind had almost stopped, stars filled the cloudless sky overhead, and another incredible lightning storm lit up the heavens southeast of me. The storm kept moving away from me, so I never caught the rain. As I rode down the center of the highway with my lights off, fireflies lit the ditches on both sides of me. Beautiful, quiet, surreal….fantastic. At 1am, I reached the park and made camp in the pea soup fog that hung in the still, moisture-saturated air. Not motivated to set up the woodstove, I made a small fire in the stove's pan and heated water, in my stainless water bottle, to rehydrate a late dinner. Amp'd from the ride, I couldn't sleep. So I stoked the fire and drank decaf tea until 4:30am. At 5 bells, sleep found me, and I crashed out until 10am. After a long hike through the hardwood forest and over the prairies of the state park, I started on the final 77k push toward Decorah. I pedaled for a few hours and stopped for lunch at a small bar and grill in Lime Springs. The friendly locals sent me off on a route that promised to be relatively traffic-free and end on a winding, hilly, scenic section of nice blacktop. South winds hampered my progress a bit, but I managed to roll into Decorah around 6pm. It didn't take long to find Dirt Burger home base…a troll camp, filled with familiar trolls, under a bridge, next to the river. Perfect. Thursday's rain had softened the off-road trails, so Friday's promised night ride happened on pavement instead of dirt. I didn't mind, because I knew we'd be riding dirt on Saturday. After ripping down local streets, checking out the ice cave, and visiting Dunning's Spring Park, we returned to troll camp for a late night of fire, beer, and Maker's Mark in the company of old and new friends. I woke up early Saturday morning, because 1) I was really dehydrated and 2) my Golite Hex 3, like most of the tents, was set up in a field with no shade, and it quickly turned into a sauna as the sun rose. I moved my groundcloth and pad outside and into the shadow of the single-pole nylon tipi to get a couple more hours of sleep in the cooler outside air. After I made breakfast and moved my shelter into the shade of the bridge, the crew got motivated to ride some dirt single-track…which conveniently started right across the river from where we were camped. The local guys guided us and schooled us on their home turf. The Decorah trails are well-built and well-routed. Tree roots, log piles, steep climbs and descents, and tight switchbacks keep it challenging and fun. The final decent was a sweet rollercoaster ride back to pavement that put a lasting smile on my face. I filled the rest of Saturday with a much-needed dunk in the river, eating, drinking, a challenging bout of bucketball, a Jedi ride up the bluff to watch dirt-track car racing, a huge campfire, and late-night entertainment by The Skip Bernet and Tuff Russell Musical Love Explosion. I was asleep by 2am, but the party went on for another 2-3 hours. Waking up refreshed from a well-deserved slumber, I immediately started packing up my stuff in preparation for a ride to meet up with Lynn, Noah, and my in-laws at the home of Lynn's grandparents, 78km up the road. I needed to be in Ostrander, MN by 4pm, so we could have an early dinner together and complete the 2-hour drive back to Minneapolis by 10pm. It was apparent that the planned 10am group ride to Bluffton, a town which is conveniently located on my return route, wasn't going to leave on time. So I filled my water bottles, said my goodbyes, and headed out toward Bluffton, solo, under threatening skies. The light on-and-off showers were refreshing, and I finally got a push from an eastern tailwind. I kept a good pace up and down the hills on Bluffton Rd. At one point, I had to duck into a machine shed for 20 minutes to escape heavy rain, but it seemed like the worst weather stayed south of me. Calories, from a greasy burger in Harmony, and the prevailing tailwind pushed me into Ostrander at 3:45. In a way, it felt good to be done with the ride. It was Father's Day, and I was happy to see Noah. The shower and clean clothes felt great. And my ass was sore from my time in the saddle. But part of me wanted to keep going for a couple more days. Bike touring/camping is addicting, and I'm craving more of that multi-day 2-wheel smack. Fortunately, there's an endless supply in any direction. And it can be obtained year ‘round, if one has the right gear and mindset to seek it. -----

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