Girls, Girls, Girls!

While vacationing in Park City two weeks ago, I found myself without plans on a Tuesday evening. A stop in the local bike shop, White Pine Touring, earlier in the week left me with an option to ponder: the Tuesday night women’s ride.

I’ll admit I was hesitant to partake in this local ladies-only ride at first. My two neighborhood shops don’t offer weekly women’s mountain bike rides…or any weekly mountain bike rides for that matter. Plus, I’d never ridden with only women before.

Admittedly, fear of the unknown frightens me—even when (especially when) the unknown involves a group of girls. Would they give my Racer X rental the once-over and pass judgment? Fortunately, my fear faded the moment I hopped on my bike and pedaled towards the shop. Really, it was just a ride. Just for women. Just for fun.

When I rolled to a stop in front of the entrance, my jaw dropped. There must have been 50 people waiting to pedal off into the mountains—fifty WOMEN! On MOUNTAIN bikes! And this happens every Tuesday! I joined the Level II- Endurance group on a ride that took my breath away, and not just because we were at high altitude (but that was part of it).


Miles of emerald mountains, crystal water and auburn sky greeted us at the top of every climb. Ride leaders positioned themselves at switchbacks chirping cheerful pointers as we pushed past. And in the last few miles of the day, the trail dumped us into the parking lot of a garage where a few older men were holding band practice. To their delight, we stayed for a song as the sun set behind us.


“Only in Park City,” the girl next to me shouted above the music.

You got that right.

Because I Got High

I’ve been a bit lax in getting a new post up here. It’s not my fault. I was high. Really high. Seven-thousand-feet-above-sea-level high. Spend 10 days in Park City, UT, and you too will forget you have a job, car and, yes, blog.


Yeah, we all know it has “the greatest snow on earth” (which I’ve been fortunate enough to test and confirm), but Utah has some of the greatest mountain biking on earth too—at least in my book.

I’ve been to Moab. I’ve pedaled Porcupine Rim, Slickrock, Amasa Back and Sovereign. Each one was mind blowing and unique—yet poles apart from riding Park City. The mountain town boasts more than 325 miles of trails: Singletrack. Doubletrack. Bike trail. Lift-served. We rode them all—Mid Mountain, Powerline, Tour des Suds, The Crest, Spiro, Spin Cycle—and never took the lift. (“That’s cheating,” Justin told me.)

The views at the top were worth every pedal stroke, muscle cramp and bead of sweat it took to get there.



And “getting there” was equally as stunning. Surrounded by stark white Aspens, we rode through burmed, rocky, switchbacking singletrack.


For the first time the terrain wasn’t the only thing that made the riding challenging. Altitude and heat made us East-Coasters take it easy. We learned the art of pacing, as I don’t think we ever truly adjusted to the altitude. And at the top of a steep climb on a triple-digit day, I blacked out. By myself. Summoning courage from my best friend, (for whom blacking out is a somewhat frequent pastime), I rehydrated, popped a few Honey Stinger chews and finished my ride.

Our stay in PC ended in a bar we frequented nightly to catch the last hour of the Tour and sip PBR pounders—Flanagans on Main St. On our last night in town, our newfound friend Tim (the manager with just three weeks on the job) was heartbroken when he found out his first “locals” were hopping a flight the next day. He shouted, “Last call” to a sparse crowd just as a group of unruly patrons walked in. But he let them stay, let us play Corey Hart from his iPod and laughed when an impromptu dance-off lasted until 2:30 in the morning.

We danced.

Luckily, I was having too much fun to take pictures.