Epic is as epic does…

I like my trails like I like my woman. Wild, curvy, and demanding. A week off for Thanksgiving set the perfect stage for a solo ramble into the Ozarks looking for singletrack and some more bonding time with my new lovely. Her name is Chloe, and she’s a carbon Santa Cruz Bronson. What I found was lonely, cold, and wonderful. A reminder of why I adventure and what I love. The reason to stay in shape and spend too much on gear.

Before the story, here’s some loose stats. Loose mainly because my give-o-shit dwindles when I hit the road solo. No hurry, no real schedule. Focus on fun and vibe with a dark hope in the back of my mind of getting genuinely lost.

• 3 days, 2 nights
• Mileage unknown
• 3 scenic highways
• 2 IMBA Epics
• 2 National Forests
• 4 scenic overlooks
• 2 über sketchy creek crossings
• infinite joy and thankfulness

Like I said, epic is as epic does. Few things please me more than setting lofty goals and plans that seem unrealistic, and then smashing them with a certain style that makes me feel unstoppable. My main goals weren’t stats at all, but purely vibe focused. Most of the metrics listed above were actually accidental. First goal: to hell with GPS. Phone stays in Airplane mode except for when I call the lady each evening. It would be off, but it’s my personal lo-jack and did double duty as camera of choice. Second goal: ride my bike. And third: somehow in this overcrowded and networked world, find some isolation.

Paper map in hand and distaste for Interstate in heart, the backroads began. No clue how long it took me, but wound up in Ft. Smith with a beard full of some damn good chicken and waffles. Back to the woods, and a wonderful ramble on the forest service roads to Hawksbill Crag. Thankfully I had low expectations on this, so the loud foreigners trying to corral kids and figure out how to park in the dirt didn’t bother me too much. Snapped some pictures for a nice couple, had the rock to myself for about 6 minutes, then the steady flow of people sent me packing up the hill and down the “road”. After I’d gone about ten miles without seeing a soul, it was time to set camp for a terribly miscalculated amount of cold.

I should have been a weatherman. Literally can be wrong every day and still get paid. The forecasted low of 35 was in fact 18. Another joy of the solo adventure: no sympathy or concerns for my company’s comfort. Just deal. Gear up, hit the trail. Too good to be true, a friggin truck pulls up as I’m about to drop in. Another grand stroke of luck- it’s a rad old dude, a glimpse into my future of sorts, an original trail builder rambling out. Beard flaired, eyes wild, stoke high. Did I in fact see this man and shake his hand? Or did the universe overlap and let my future self pay a visit? That was the only contact I’d have for nearly 72 hours. A glorious statistic.

Grind to the top, find the sign, drop in. Leaves everywhere, fellow man nowhere. Slip and slide, blast a berm, find my flow, expect it to end shortly. Rewarded instead with a 30 minute downhill flow to a beautiful creek and a few miles of cruise. Very happy. Cross the creek over and over, can’t feel fingers but I think they’re burning. Massive twisty climb, perfect bluffs, still no one. Crest the ridge, have a snack in continued silence. Drop in, twists and turns, then ease into a heavy dose of amazing. Pure joy, exposed trail, rock lips, boost and flow. And it keeps going. Spits me out on familiar trail, cruise the creek some more, time to grind back up the fire road… Possible missed turn, flip it around, bomb three miles of steep fire road at speeds unreasonable for someone all alone. Realize I didn’t miss the turn. Back up the road with zero regret. Impressed with the length of skids in some corners. See the truck, quick lunch. Five hours in already? Too early to stop, still feel strong. Up the hill, drop it in for half hour descent, shortcut out to the road, grind up.

Got too cold last night, map looks reasonable, let’s go down there and see what that trail is all about. Lots of green between here and there, and that road looks rad on paper…

The long way paid off. Rewarded with a magnificent dusk traverse with the deer and a lone mountain. Getting dark already. A little further than expected, finally some unfamiliar territory. Up this ridge, tires slipping. Make the corner, damn I’m getting in deep here… sketchy cabin, quick turn around, nearly went off the side, front end stuck in ditch. Bounce it out, point it down, get the hell outta here. Find a reasonable spot, don’t feel like setting up camp. Eat all the food, roll up in a ball in the back seat and keep warm.

Much warmer morning. Every bit of 25 degrees. Fingers burning again, leaves everywhere. Legs burning, lungs burning, keep going. Crawling up, dropping down, crawl out, cross the road, continue. Can’t pass up this view. Beautiful. Spring will be amazing. I didn’t know woodpeckers got that big. A jackhammer clothed in feathers. Feral beast who had honed his craft to the point he knew he was unstoppable. Much respect. Must get stronger and come back again, bring friends. Wrap it up, down the road, and ease it back home.

The only time sacred silence was broken by more than sticks and leaves was when the week’s mantra came out in an exhale of steam. Give thanks.

Thankful for the wild places, the wild people that preserve them and build the trails. A wife that encourages and more than understands, a body that can participate, and a life that allows it. Thankful for a heart and soul that needs it. This is my temple, this is how I worship. Part of the system built by the Creator, doing my duty.

-scratch