I've been hearing about mountain biking in Fruita for at least 10 years. It’s said that the “F” in Fruita stands for “fun” So, last fall, I went to see what all the fuss is about, even though I’m not a mountain biker. 

Now that I’ve done it, I am clear that I’ll never have to do it again.  I learned on that trip that fitness can make up for a lack of skill, and skill can make up for a lack of fitness – but if you're lacking in both, mountain biking is a drag. From here on, I won't be mountain biking on anything but pleasant country roads; but if you’re a biker, it’s quite definitely the place for you.

Our first stop was at the older of Fruita's two bike shops, Over the Edge Sports (otesports.com), where a day rental seemed excessive at $45.  The other store, Single Tracks (single-tracks.com) is only slightly cheaper, so rent on the Front Range if you can, where bikes can be had for $25. 

The local shops are good spots for gleaning advice from true mountain-biking devotees. My co-conspirator on this little adventure, Beverly Lyne, asked where the bike shop employee would recommend camping. Her answer, “Where would I camp? Or where do I think you should camp?”  suggested a bit of attitude. After we assured her that we wanted what would please her, she pointed us to BLM 18 Road Campground, on public lands directly north of Fruita. We paid for my bike and for two must-have resources: Fruita-Grand Junction topographical map and The Fruita Fat Tire Guidebook by Troy Rarick and Anne Keller – and drove north. 

The campground is a good choice for those who think “amenities” means picnic tables and pit toilets. We were satisfied, and evidently lots of other bikers were too, because on a Saturday night it was hopping.  (By Sunday at 3 p.m., it was a ghost town.)  The camping is literally in the center of a designated bike recreation area. Trails take off in all directions, and all are clearly marked with destination, length, level of difficulty, and ample warnings to “Keep single track single” and otherwise behave yourself. That’s important: off-track bikes tear up the ground, causing erosion and disturbing wildlife. 

That first evening we got on our bikes and headed down the only designated “easy” trail in the area, Kessell Run. It was hard! It's got woop-de-doos, corners and rocks, all scary for this neophyte.  Beverly, a former Outward Bound instructor and general hard-core mountaineer, took a look and said, “It scares me, and I'm fearless.”  She was smiling, though, so off we went. I’ve got to admit it was a blast, even though I went at a tortoise's pace, frequently stopping to catch my breath not so much from exertion as from a fear-based adrenalin rush. After an hour, I felt I'd done a day's work. I also wondered what a double black diamond could possibly be like, given that this was “easy.”

The next day we shared a ride with another couple who were on their way back from Moab. We met at the Colorado Welcome Center just across I-70 from downtown Fruita, a good place for water fill-ups, bathrooms, brochures, advice, and rendezvous. We opted for another “easy” ride beginning at the Rabbit Valley trailhead at the last exit before Utah.  This area is part of the new McInnis Canyons National Conservation Area (www.co.blm.gov/mcnca), which offers great floating, backpacking and hiking options, as well as bike trails. 

It was definitely easy to get there. But easy to ride? That depends.  This is a stretch of the famed Kokopelli Trail that leads from Fruita to Moab, 140 miles away.  Some of it is “double track,” which basically means a dirt road (one track for each of a truck's tires). Sometimes sand and mud get so deep that bikes sink in, so ask about conditions before starting out.

A single track parallels the double track, and it is adorned with appropriately scary downs and ups.  I did a mile or two of it, but our flintier buddies used it the whole way.  Everybody was happy.

Except for one thing: goatheads, nasty little burrs which seemed to be unduly attracted to my tires. I had three – yes, three – to contend with that day.  Which means we spent a great deal of time sitting in the shade futzing with tire irons, patch kits, and new tubes. 

Here's what I learned that day about tires and flats:
– Don't leave home without a pump, a patch kit, and at least two spare tubes.
– Don't ever pull the goathead out; sometimes the tire can hold air even with one in, and it will surely deflate once the burr is removed.
– Not all tubes fit all tires.

If you get really stuck, you can ride back on a deflated tire, or even on the rim if it's getting late. Yes, this involves damage to the bike, but it's better than being stuck overnight with no supplies. (This last tidbit came from a BLM ranger who explores the backcountry as part of his job, lucky dog.)

There is a third and final “easy” trail in the area, Rustler's Loop, also in the McKinnis Canyons area. It has a scary descent at the beginning, but from then on it is billed as the country's first “self-teaching” mountain bike trail.

For me, enough was enough. I was happy to be done with my bike and with the fear, the occasional bursts of über-exertion, and the vagaries of tires. We opted for a soak and a float in the Colorado River.  The best spot: the Loma Boat Launch, with a quasi-sandy beach.  The water is the color of cafe au lait, but who cares? It was cool and refreshing.  Highline Lake State Park offers a cleaner swimming option, along with camping and still more mountain bike trails.   

As the sky began to lighten the next morning, I lay in my sleeping bag feeling a bit of a failure. The “easy” stuff was basically too hard for me, and I hadn’t even glanced at a double black diamond. 

But wait! I could explore double blacks – on foot.  I laced up my running shoes, ate a nut bar, swigged some water and headed out to Zippety-Doo-Dah.  Finally, I was having a beyond- fabulous Fruita experience.  I had steady ground under my feet and the changing colors of very early morning painting 50 miles of vistas. I was in heaven, running this trail. 

Exhilarated, in fact, even when I stood at the top of the first big drop, looked at the bike trail descending in front of me, and wondered how I was going to get down it on my own two feet. It was so steep I had to side-step down.  Toward the bottom I let loose and ran like a kindergartner, legs whirling and arms flying. I ran down, and up, and stopped to see the views, and felt (perhaps) like the mountain bikers do: truly alive and in the moment. 

So the next time I'm invited on a mountain biking trip to Fruita, I'll definitely say “yes.” But I won't bring a bike; I'll just bring my running shoes. I figure with all the time lost to gear-handling and flat tires, I can keep up with my wheeled companions just fine.  Or, maybe I’ll bring a road bike and enjoy the quiet paved roads nearby, or traverse the  Colorado National Monument, with its long vistas and cooler air 2,000 feet above the valley floor.

As for details, camping seems to be the happening thing for the biker crowd. If you'd like an occasional shower, there are several chain motels along the highway, and they're all used to the dirt that bikers bring in. There's one bed and breakfast, too, called Stonehaven Inn (stonehavenbed.com); from here, you can stroll through the historic center of Fruita. The town has been an agricultural hub in the water-rich Grand Valley for well over 100 years before mountain bikers arrived.  Today, the bikers and ranchers co-exist, but don’t mingle much.  But that’s okay; each group puts on a great festival:  the Fat Tire Festival, held the last weekend of April, and the Fall Festival in September. Both are fun for visitors, on bike or on foot.

The bottom line: go to Fruita in the spring or the fall. Let your inner teen rule for the day on a bike, or don’t bother with wheels at all.  The area is worth exploring for much more than its single-track.

Wendy Underhill, a writer, parent and community do-gooder, has set a goal for 2009: “Have more fun.” Traveling the byways of Colorado is one of the big ways she’s fulfilling that goal.