Signs of the Seasons

 Closing the Gates

Officially closed for the season

Days in North Fork are going to be limited. Going forward, all bets are off. I've been able to ride as late the end of November, and cut-off as early as....well, before now. As recounted innumerable times, so much has changed up in the park over the years, it's hard to remember what it used to be like. Gone are the days where there were no gates, in fact, only one entrance. Even after they installed gates, we could regularly cut through a neighbors field and get into the south side without any problems, or getting into trouble. There was one winter I fed cows into the early part of the season, going through the south side at 04:00 in the morning, through a blizzard, pushing snow up to the bumper on my truck loaded with hay, looking for any sign of the animals in the absolute dark. Now days the trail people will be up there setting the winter signs, getting ready for snowfall and all the activities that go along with the Nordic group. Until then, riding where it is still open - as long as it is safe.

Maybe the last time at the top for this year

Where it can be quiet

Recently (coincidently) I've heard several people mention how riding up the south side of Mules Ear to the top is a grind. It has been my go to since this trail opened all those many years ago. The "Overlook" as it is often referred to, is one of my favorite places anymore. Sometimes it takes more patience than grit, but I can still get there. It's not an exclusive location, but it does take more than simple curiosity to pull it off. More often than not, I will get past the steep hairpin at the very end, only to immediately turn around and come back down. This time of year is different. Knowing the season could end almost any time, I'll take the time to drink it up. Today was such a day. With the wind blowing all the way up, it got very quiet once on top. The campground being closed, there is nobody down below in the canyon to interrupt the quiet. But today.....only an emptiness that seemingly can't be filled. The melancholy of  these changing seasons echoes like a large empty can, without tone or depth - just a plain indiscriminate feedback of my own voice. But I ride this trail for my own reasons - nobody else's. It is here that I can be.....

The times of my youth

There is a history up here that goes back well more than 50 some odd years. In my youth my dad brought me up here deer hunting. I clearly remember the year we stumbled on to the power lines being installed for the Environmental Center. Only a couple years later I spent Christmas break during one of the driest years ever, hiking up and around that same area with absolutely zero snow. Two years later I spent an evening in the same place with so much snow it was hardly the same place. The countless hours and trips up to this place I would eventually build a home and raise a family - I hardly recognize any of it. Those big rock slabs however, they remain. I can see them from the front and side deck of my house all year long. It does occasionally remind me of those days when I didn't know any better and yet to have sold my soul to whatever it was I made that deal. Did I know that transaction was already underway, or did I assume it would last forever? That second evening mentioned above was merely a couple short months after I had an experience that would never leave my mind. There was a stark reminder at the second evening that seems so vague now it is hard to register. There is a certain hell that comes with knowing too much and that is hard to reconcile at times. What could have been, what was the dream and how it all turned out in the end - a tragedy of sorts.

If only for a minute

The pivots of time are so elusive. Things come and go. Events - well they stack up. Autumn was always the best time of year for me personally. I'm not sure when that changed, but anymore the seasons seem to all run together without delineation. If only for a minute......the pain that it brings of simply knowing is sometimes too much. But then again, the sweetness of life has a shelf life - no preservatives. That's what makes it so special to begin with. This is the time of year my eyes began to open - for better or worse. I know what hell looks like. I know what hopelessness feels like. I hope to never know what rock bottom actually is. And there it is, HOPE.

Click here for a little Deja Vue - "Helpless"

Ride HARD!