There weren't too many mountain bikers around in my time on the Uncompahgre Plateau, near Montrose, CO. First there was muzzle-loading rifle season, and then the archery season. I do feel a little nervous riding my bike with hunters around, but I make the best of it by wearing a flaming bicycle vest. I even got a bright orange safety vest for my dog.
There is something admirable about the bow-hunters, something atavistic, noble, and honest. And quiet. One day a bow-hunter came by my dispersed campsite. I took an instant like to him, and my dog immediately charmed his socks off. Normally, when I converse, it seems as though it is my job to keep the conversation alive, for the simple reason that the blockhead can't think of anything to discuss, other than 'where ya frum?'
But in this case, I let him do 90% of the talking. He was raised on a real ranch as a boy. He spent some time as a professional hunting guide. He has hunted in Idaho, Montana, and Alaska. And oh my goodness, he had great stories about close calls when cleaning a carcass, with a bear smelling it and circling around. And the one about being trapped between wolves. On and on the stories went. I just sat there and soaked it up.
He took out his 9 mm semi-automatic pistol, removed the magazine, and let me play with it. This is his personal protection device against mountain lions and black bears. I had just told him about coming within 100 feet of a large adult black bear, a few days earlier. And my stupid dog went after the bear! But the bear ran so fast (and so noisily) through the sapling aspen forest, that she gave up in 5 seconds, and returned unhurt.
When I finally walked back to my trailer, it was the middle of the afternoon. I had been listening to him for 4 or 5 hours. It was an impressive reminder of Man as a Hunter/Gatherer, and the oral tradition of 'swapping lies' around the campfire. There are few examples where male foolishness is more charming. Ultimately it was responsible for the epic and legendary poems and tales that began the tribal literature of many peoples.
In a few days it was time to declare victory for my stay on the un-touristy Uncompahgre Plateau, and drive past a very touristy area, especially at this time of year: the periphery of the San Juan Mountains between Ridgway and Telluride, CO. The leaf-peepers were certainly out in full force, and rightly so, considering the yellow-blazing aspens. They would pull over at the official 'scenic overlooks', walk as far as 10 feet from their motor vehicle, hold up their smartphone, and snap-away at the breathtakingly beautiful scenery.
Although I probably appreciate the scenery as much as any of them, I didn't even bother with photographs. It is not a negative statement about scenery to acknowledge that the buzz starts fading away after just a few minutes.
At any rate an outdoor or 'nature experience', like they were having, does not inspire me. It's not wrong, it's just shallow.
On to Dolores CO, one of my little sweethearts on the annual loop through the Southwest. For the first time since the Fourth of July I was in ponderosa forests again. Even better, the parent rock was sandstone. Sheer bliss it was to mountain bike on packed and troughed dirt trails, with few rocks and roots.
Last year I wondered how many zillion miles of non-technical trails you could have on flatter, non-touristy areas in the West. It would not cost a lot, and it would benefit small towns with weak economies. What is blocking this, other than a lack of appreciation of smooth trails on non-touristy land?
'Non-touristy scenery' does not mean 'boring.' Rivers, wildlife, no fees, no restrictions against horses or dogs, beautiful spacious forests, grass, colorful oak bushes, a perfect altitude and sky... and yet there are no tourists holding out their smartphones here. Real land has balance.