This is what Sunday summer evenings look like. Live music in the park across the street from our house, a running/dancing Hazel and a super chill baby. It's one of those things that is just so ridiculously easy to go to, we can't NOT go, you know what I mean?
Plus, there are always friends to hang out with, mediocre to good music and really. It's 1 minute from our house.
The Monday after these concert pictures were taken, I texted Sarita to see if she wanted to ride. She told me she was in Crested Butte. I said I would be right there. And I was, and only 30 minutes late. We hemmed and hawed about which trail to ride until I finally said, "Let's do 401!"
You know, 401. Only one of the best mountain bike trails in ALL OF AMERICA. Hell yeah, let's do 401.
Here's the start. When you start at 10,707 feet, you know it's going to be good.
And this is just the beginning of the views. Given the almost mythical nature of the 401, I thought it would be difficult. It was not. It's just impossible to ride because the views are amazing and you constantly have to stop just to take it all in.
Spot the singletrack.
Ok, so there are some spots which require you to walk your bike. But not many. This is one such spot. If you can ride it, I will pay you. Maybe not in money, but in something equally cool like admiration.
Spot Sarita.
Now I am spoiled. 401 is about 30 minutes from my house (give or take the extra 30 minutes I am always late when meeting someone). How can I ride anywhere else and say it's just as good?? I mean, really. Go look at those pictures again.
See what I mean? I am so screwed. Fruita is awesome. Salida is sweet. Hartman is hipster. But Crested Butte pretty much takes the cake.
Time to get back on the 401. SOON.
