Sensory Overload

Short Version:
Fall Faire in Golden, Grumpy Bears, brief sun, a ride too short

Long Version:
Second Saturday in September is Fall Faire day in Golden, with all manner of fun activities*, culminating in a big fireworks display. We didn't go.

Instead, we picked up a trail map and campground directions from the Derailed bike shop, stole some internet from a cafe, got a wasp sting, and bailed back out into the woods, to the campground we'd failed to find the previous night, where we set up camp just in time to be accosted by the fee collector doing his rounds. The $12 fee (charged only on Friday and Saturday nights during summer**) took our running total of accommodation costs for the BC leg of the trip up to $39.40, which is still not too bad, but later on each of us admitted mild peevishness about paying, largely because no-one else did: the fee collector guy told us the chap in campsite #5 had been there all summer without paying a cent; the couple in the blue van turned up an hour or so after the fee collector left; and this was the last chargeable night of the season. Bah humbug.

Grumpy Bear Honey Wheat Beer in the sun (SUN!) cured all our grouch, though, and we were in high spirits watching the dragonflies (several of which liked the look of Nene as a resting perch), the industrious cone-collecting squirrels, and the incredibly cheeky chipmunk which looked like someone had shot him through the midriff at some point but was still daring enough to invade the van and to climb my leg. Twice.

We ended up staying two nights there, hiking in the woods, playing disc golf, wading in waist-deep vile-smelling mud to retrieve someone's wayward disc, climbing back up to the road from the bottom of the muddy bank she pushed me down... we had a grande olde time. The first night we stayed the sky was clear for the first time in a long time, and we listened to the echoes of the fireworks bouncing from the surrounding mountains while watching satellites and meteors tracing brightness across the sky.

It was all downhill from there, though: the weather packed in and the unnoticed dishwashing liquid spill meant we each got a big mouthful of soapy filth instead of the glorious rich morning coffee we were expecting. Still, there was riding to be done, so it was on with the gear and off into the drizzle, up what looked on the map like a decent climb on gravel road, followed by singletrack along and down and down and down...

It's not often I'm left wanting more when an uphill section is over, unless the wanting is for more lung capacity, or leg power, or the ability to hypnotise with a glance, or X-ray vision, or various other powers, like invisibility, or the ability to pause other people. So it was kind of weird to find myself sitting at the top of the road section, half an hour after we left the campground, looking at the singletrack leading across and downhill, thinking: That climb wasn't long enough.

I was right, too - it wasn't long enough. The downhill trail was pretty nice, with spectacular views down into and across a canyon, but it was short. The cruisy traverse back across the slope was also nice, with some fun descents, but it didn't take very long, and neither did the extra loop we tacked on, back across the hill-face towards the canyon. We were left feeling a little bit ripped-off: we'd heard so much about the riding at Golden, but when it came down to it there just wasn't enough there***. The highlight of the day's ride was the drop into the bowl where we found ourselves blasted by brilliant, contrasting colours: rich black and chestnut soils; the deep browns, sombre greys and shining silvers of trunk and branch; and on every side the bright yellow, burnt orange, dark red, and million shades of green leaves, leaves, and more leaves. Stunning stuff.






* = Including wife-carrying. I thought about it, cos she's only little, but then thought about how dense she is, and decided it would likely be an inglorious endeavour

** = And on the Sunday night of public holiday weekends

*** = Impression we've garnered is that the Kicking Horse Mountain Resort**** is a chairlift-enabled gravity-assisted rider's paradise, and the chap at the bike shop reckoned there was a new XC trail system under development at the foot of Mount Seven*****, so maybe we were just the wrong kind of riders in town at the wrong time

**** = They have a Grizzly Bear Reserve halfway up the mountain - a fenced-off area where a rescued grizzly spends his days. I wonder what he thinks of the endless procession of gondolas and chairlifts full of skiiers, cyclists, and sightseers passing overhead. Probably that they look delicious.

***** = Named for the distinctive 7-shaped snowpatch which appears every April as the Spring Thaw melts the surrounding snowfield away to nothing