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Many of the most famous Colorado biking towns are hemmed in by box canyons or by that great scenic wonder, Interstate 70. But not Crested Butte. It occupies a wide-open valley where the trails can roam hither and thither like a distracted Irish Setter. On Snodgrass Mountain, just outside town, the singletrack sometimes snakes itself
into an intricate maze. You catch peripheral glances of other riders zipping through aspen stands, the flashes of cyclist-tree-cyclist-tree teasing your retinas like a strobe.

I rode Crested Butte’s best trail ù the climb to the top of Snodgrass Mountain ù with my girlfriend on a July day. Grinding up the slope’s steep doubletrack through a meadow, we crossed a fence and finally crested the hill, where suddenly the slope opened up to a huge, horizon-to-sky panorama of mountains, forest, flowers, and cliffs. We stood
dumbstruck, breathless. (Or maybe that was just the altitude.) Around us, birds twittered an avian version of the Beach Boys’ “Don’t Worry Baby.” There on the top of Snodgrass ù where the aspens grow as tall and straight and pale as BYU basketball players ù we rediscovered why we started mountain biking in the first place.

And that was before the downhill, the highlight of the ride. Drenched with sun, the mountain’s backside was awash in wildflowers. Chest-high, Berber-carpet dense, the blooms were as big as monkeys’ heads.

Lupines, columbines, and
delphiniums, they crowded the narrow singletrack, slapping at spandex and restricting our sight lines to the wake knifed open by the front wheel. At that point, all we could do was hang back on the saddle, and surf the billion petals like a wave.

Route: The trailhead is on Colorado 135, one mile past the end of the pavement outside Crested Butte. To complete the loop, double back from the summit and take the first singletrack on the right the rest of the way down. Distance: 15 miles. Contact: Alternative Sports, Crested Butte, 970-349-1320.

Copyright 1998, �����ԹϺ��� magazine