We try to ride our mountain bikes frequently. Like about every other day. We've been getting out to ride and enjoy the evenings, and to burn a bit of energy off the little dogs so that they don't attack ferociously us while we're trying to eat/sit/talk/sleep/etc.
The local trails are excellent, but we don't mind getting away from them for a bit of variety. Sunday we were able to combine our garden-poop-retrieval truck-run with a mountain bike ride. We parked along the river near orchards where the apricot trees were frothing with white blossoms, then rode upward into the steep canyons and ridges that skirt the base of Grand Mesa. Snow shimmered from the 10,000 foot top of the Mesa and spilled downward in melting patches. But below, where we were, the temperature was warm and lovely.
The leafy trees and bushes were still bare, but grasses and flowers were starting to brighten up the slopes and meadows, adding to the perennial green of the juniper and pinyon trees. We saw the first red paintbrush of the season. And our first snake -- of which I am something of an expert. By which I mean, I was easily able to tell that it was a snake, and that it was not a poisonous rattlesnake.
After about three hours worth of scenic mountains, cliffs, canyons, slopes, and wide views of the fertile valley below, we popped back out by the truck with two tuckered-out dogs who were happy to jump into the river to cool off.
--Greg
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