With just a hint of reluctance, I took a break from fishing on Sunday and hopped on the bike for a ride along the Colorado River with Mom, Heather, Nick, and Brenden. We made the drive from Redstone through Glenwood Springs and accessed the trail at the strangely named "No Name, CO." I was certain that there was some kind of clever story behind the name, but at the time I didn't bother to look into it. As it turns out, the Wikipedia entry I found states very matter of factly that it was simply named after No Name Creek and No Name Canyon. As it stands now, I have No Time for anymore No Name research, so we'll leave it at that.
The initial stretch of the trail was pretty much downhill and then flat, and the scenery was less than spectacular. After reaching our first rendevous point, however, it became very scenic and active, with dozens of bikers passing us in the opposite direction.
As I pedaled methodically, I instinctively began to wonder if maybe I should have tried to figure out a way to pack a flyrod with me and leave the biking to the rest of the crew. My fears were confirmed as I passed a stretch of river occupied by two flyfishermen, both of whom were in the middle of fighting trout at that very moment. Having put some distance between myself and the rest of the crew, I stopped to watch as one of the fishermen pulled in a nice looking brown. I made a quick mental note of the location and plugged it into my handheld GPS for future reference. On the return trip, I snapped a photo (below left), which captures both the natural beauty of the ride and the approximate location of the catch.
We stopped at Hanging Lake Rest Area for a quick bite to refuel for the return trip. Nick's sarcastic wit kept us laughing as we sat just long enough for the older members of the crew (i.e. John and Mom) to stiffen up and develop kinks that would have to be worked out on the return ride.
The return trip was, by and large, one gigantic coast downhill, and we made close to double time on the way back. I proved I could still keep up with the young bucks. All in all, we traveled 14 miles. Granted, we're not ready for the Ironman yet, but not bad for a bunch of weekend warriors. I reassured myself that I hadn't committed any grave sins by skipping fishing that afternoon, and looked forward to another huge meal and time with family around the fire. Not a bad day by any measure!
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