17 Miles Down Hermosa Creek

NOTE: to see photos of this trail, go to my Picasa photo album:
http://picasaweb.google.com/neuswangerk/DurangoTheThreeCreeksWeekend#slideshow


I went to Durango on June 16 and rode 17 miles down Hermosa Creek.  To reach the trail, you turn at Purgatory Ski Area (that is, “Durango Mountain Resort” to you) and drive seven miles on a dirt road over the ridge to the Hermosa Creek drainage.

The trail is a Forest Service multiple use trail open hikers, bikers, and horses, as well as dirt bikers.  The posts on the websites were written by guys who said they had ridden the full 22 miles in “two hours.”

I should have known better than to go by those reports.  But hey, it’s all downhill, right?  Sure, there’s a “little uphill” at the end, they said.  I forgot that the guys who post those reports are almost always gonzo bikers, often with downhill bikes sporting 29 inch wheels, extra long play shocks, and riders who don’t give a lot of thought to things like life insurance and having families!

I met a guy in the parking lot who had just returned from riding the trail.  He told me it took him 4 hours.  Uh oh.  I was meeting Paul, my friend’s brother in law, and told him I’d been there by 4:15.  It was already 2:15.  The guy at the parking lot (John) kindly offered to call Paul when he got into cell phone range.  “What time should I tell him?”  “Tell him to meet me at 5:00!”  “Really?”  “Yeah, I think I can get there in about three hours.”

After five miles, I met David from Denver.  He was patching a flat tire. He had ridden all the way UP the trail.  “I don’t have a spare tube.  I’m gonna have to get one when I get to town,” he said.  His patch job appeared to be working, and he didn’t seem concerned at all, so I debated giving him one of my spare tubes (I brought two), but I figured I needed them more than he did, and besides, he who rides a 22 mile trail solo with no spare gets what he deserves, eh?

Then the uphill section started.  For the next 12 miles, the trail stayed high above the creek, and it seemed like I was going uphill as much as downhill.  The trail also got a lot more narrow.  In places the trail was washed out, so that one false turn and you would be tumbling a hundred feet in a bad way!  I started watching the downhill side to be aware of my risk if I went over the side.

There were many large stones on the trail, more than I recall on other mountain bike trails.  These stones were like football size—hit one of them wrong and you’re off the trail.  I’m not sure if it was just a very rocky canyon, or if the rocks were kicked up by dirt bikers, or if there just aren’t very many hikers who might stop to push them aside.

The trail guides said the trail was 22 miles.  After an hour, I had gone 7 miles, which is pretty good time on a mountain trail, even downhill (unless you are the abovementioned gonzo biker).  I figured I could never keep up this pace on the uphill sections, but I pressed on as hard as I could, rarely stopping to enjoy the scenery I was cruising past.

After three hours, my bike computer told me I still had 11 miles to go.  This was not going well.  Paul would be waiting and waiting, and there was nothing I could do, and the harder I pressed, the more danger of making a costly mistake.

Then a runner came down the trail past me.  I said, “How many more miles?”  He glanced at his GPS and yelled “four miles,” never breaking his stride.  Four miles?  Not eleven?  I’m saved!
I kept waiting for the long downhill section that would take me to the trailhead.  It never came.  Up and down, across something like 12 side drainages.

Two miles later, I heard a noises behind and was startled to see a guy on a bike overtaking me!  He was on a “29er”—a bike with the large 29 inch wheels.  I said, “Is it two more miles?”  He said, “Oh I think you just go around the corner up here and you’ll see the parking lot below!”  Excellent!  I’m even closer than I thought!

Except I wasn’t.  Perhaps because of his advanced skills, he had a skewed perception of time and distance.  It was, in fact, two more miles.  Finally I saw the parking and camping area.  When I reached Paul, I asked, “Did you see another guy come down ahead of me?”  He said, “Yeah, he was only about 8 minutes ahead of you.”  I said, “Well, what took me 15 minutes, took him 8 minutes!”
Turns out the trailhead is five miles up the creek from the town of Hermosa, next to Hwy 550, which is where other riders leave their shuttle vehicle.  At any rate, I had ridden 17 miles in 3½ hours total time.  My bike computer said actual riding time was only 2½ hours.  This didn’t seem possible.  I hadn’t stopped for a whole hour on the trail.  Then I figured out the time clock didn’t register while I was pushing the bike up hill after hill, going so slow the speedometer usually didn’t register, but the odometer kept counting.

The next time I ride Hermosa Creek (and it is definitely worth doing again), I’ll give myself lots of time, and stop frequently to smell the roses.