Bolts and Brews: An Upslope India Pale Ale waits patiently for its owners to finish climbing. Photo: Randy Gresham.

When it comes to outdoor endeavors, Colorado is outdoor sport freak central, and there are few better ways to unwind after a long bike, hike or climb than tipping back a pint—or plowing through a tasty beer sampler.  Luckily, our state is home to more breweries than 14,000-foot peaks, so finding a tasting room for post-adventure imbibing is never a problem.

Boulder

Boulder is the birthplace of Colorado microbrews so it’s hard not to raise a pint of Singletrack Copper Ale with the folks over at Boulder Beer Co. who started the Rocky Mountain craft craze way back in 1979. The tour through this historical gem is tops in Boulder and it comes with a pint to sip while you take a peek at the brewing process. Then there’s Upslope Brewing Co., which has embraced the microbrew-in-a-can craze with its pale ale, india pale ale and new brown ale. Taste the beers and tour the brewery at the Lee Hill Road tap room.

Climb up a thirst: Tackle the East Slab, a 5.5 classic route that introduces climbers to the many great routes of Boulder Canyon

Colorado Springs

The Springs might not seem like a drinking epicenter, but there is some serious beer at the base of Pike’s Peak. Bristol Brewing Co. is the granddaddy here, having set up shop all the way back in 1994. Its tasting room is a local gathering spot, and yes, they call their tasting room pourers “beertenders.” Just a little bit west and virtually in the shadow of the stunning Garden of the Gods, sits Trinity Brewing Co., a place that takes tasting seriously. Pint glasses? Pfft. Just like Bordeaux deserves different stemware than a Burgundy, Trinity recognizes that its Belgium-style beers need unique glasses to compliment flavors and aromas.

Climb up a thirst: You may want to bring a beer with you to the picnic-table-sized top of Montezuma’s Tower, a 120-foot climb and rappel that somehow makes Garden of the Gods more epic, to calm your nerves.

Durango

Durango is a biking town, a skiing town, a climbing town and a beer town. Breweries seem to dot the tiny town’s landscape (which only claims about 10,000 legally aged drinkers) more frequently than stoplights. Ska Brewing Co. brings music culture into its tasty beers, and its new (as of 2008) 24,000-square-foot facility includes a two-level tasting room, beer garden and enough local flavor to have you wishing you lived around the corner.  Right in the heart of downtown sits another locals’ favorite, Steamworks Brewing Co. This full-scale brewpub and eatery serves a diverse offering of award-winning beers—but gets taken over by the college crowd late night. Durango and Carver brewing companies round out the local beer scene, which equates to a brewery for every 2,500 adults. Suds heaven.

Climb up a thirst: There are several noteworthy spots within a few minutes of downtown, including East Animas.

Fort Collins

It just wouldn’t be a brewery list without mentioning New Belgium. Sure, it’s huge by craft standards, and that’s a turnoff for some. But the tasting room buzzes nearly round the clock for good reason—the beer is free (!) and damn good. Plus there’s all those cool cruiser bicycles floating around. The free tours are the most interesting in the business, but require advanced reservations. Just down the road is Odell’s Brewing Co., which is worth a stop just for another swill of 90 Shilling alone, and Equinox Brewing Co. will satisfy your off-the-beaten path craving with its coffee shop vibe and live music in the garden.

Climb up a thirst: The Horsetooth Reservoir is home to world-class bouldering.

Longmont

Oskar Blues Brewing Co. in Lyons gets all the credit for revolutionizing canned beer by, well, putting good beer in a can. Its Lyons roots are still strong with its original brewing headquarters on Main Street serving all that canned goodness, and offering a vintage arcade room to gobble up your quarters. The brewery, however, has moved to Longmont to accommodate demand. The Tasty Weasel Tap Room anchors the experience here in the middle of the brewery. Take a tour of the massive canning and brewing facility, tip back a Dale’s Pale Ale then head to the headwaters of the Mighty St. Vrain to see where Left Hand is made. OK, the St. Vrain isn’t as mighty as the Left Hand Brewing Co. label would lead you to believe, but you’ll forget that embellishment once a Good Juju ginger beer or Milk Stout hits your palate. The Left Hand tasting room exudes the laid-back Boulder County vibe, which makes everything taste even better.

Climb up a thirst: The Monkey’s Skull in St. Vrain Canyon near Allenspark offers four 5.10 routes that are challenging and complex but still quite manageable.

Jacob Harkins is the founder of Local Winos Media.

True Grit: Sand makes a nice base for a few inches of fresh. Photo: Justin Nyberg

Skiing the snowy dunes of Great Sand Dunes National Park was a stupid idea, but it was getting stupider by the minute. Half an hour earlier, my friend Pete and I had been hurtling down Highway 17, in the San Luis Valley, with a much more defensible plan—going home after a weekend cat skiing a huge storm at Monarch Mountain. But 30 miles from the town of Alamosa, we saw something unusual: the enormous Sahara-like dunefield that’s nestled, improbably, at the foot of the nearby Sangre de Cristo mountains, was completely white.

We both stared mutely. The dunes, some of them as high as 750 feet tall, were blanketed in powder. It looked, from a distance, like a skier’s hallucination—a dreamlike, miniature range of steep, treeless, untracked hills, rising out of the griddle-flat high-desert sage and rangeland of the San Luis Valley. “Can you ski those?” I asked. Pete seemed to think so. “Should we try?” If we had any sense of perspective, we wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But with a roof rack loaded with powder boards, there wasn’t much choice. We made the turn off Highway 17 toward the dunes, and I stepped on it.

Most people who try to ride the dunes in summer fail to realize how slowly skis or a snowboard move down even the steepest dry sand, or how awkwardly they bite on crust. It’s more thrilling to walk around your front lawn in alpine skis and wave to the neighbors. But even a light sheen of snow is enough to grease the skids. The sand grows firm if it’s the slightest bit damp, and the bases slide quickly. Since piled sand rests at 34-degrees, and some of the dune slopes are as high as 500-vertical feet, you can get what look—from a reasonable distance, and without much rum—like turns.

But then there’s the question of timing. Even in southern Colorado, at an elevation of 8,200 feet, Great Sand Dunes National Park gets only about 36 inches of snow a year—with maybe six inches falling during a big storm—and it’s almost always gone within hours, baked away by the sun or blown off by the dunes’ sculpting wind. Already in the 25 minutes it took us to drag race the 35 miles to the National Park entrance, we’d watched the snow lose ground to big brown patches of sand. The four-inch base had already become three. By the time Pete managed to get his gloves and hustle back to where I was waiting, the sand patches had swollen ominously. What began as a lark had now become desperate. Even if we knew we were wasting the afternoon dune skiing, we weren’t about to waste the time not dune skiing.

Within an hour we’d hustled to the top of the tallest dunes, 300 feet above the parking lot, and stood there sweating and catching our breath. The snow, where it remained, was one-inch deep. “Not much of a base,” Pete said, as he unstrapped his stiff, carving Kastles. I stepped into a pair of rockered, 119-millimmeter-waisted Scott MegaDozers, a test pair of fat powder boards generously on loan from the company, now grotesquely out of their comfort zone. Lunar white hills folded away in the distance.

As a good friend, I volunteered to ski first. I smeared a few turns. The Megadozers, born to surf bottomless powder, began to eat sand. They twitched and squeaked as I tried to keep them off their edges. Then the dune steepened, and in a few turns the rhythm kicked in. The old feeling began. That easy, swaying, wind-in-the-face euphoria of stealing turns that should never have happened—like a morning run on corduroy before the lifts begin to move—with no one watching, nothing in mind, no place to be, and no reason left to rush. It was, in whatever ridiculous, desert-addled sense, skiing. Ridiculous, yes, but perfect.

As the slope bent around to the sharp crest of a dune, a kind of dune cornice, I let the Megadozers run, got as much speed as I could on the grabby, once-inch base, hit the lip, and sailed as far over the softly waiting sand as I could.

To the Scott ski company, which will soon find an impressive quantity of sand smashed into every cranny of those bindings, I apologize.

Prepare yourself for the newest way to experience the Grand Canyon.

No doubt you can grab a trail map and go hike the Grand Canyon on your own. But the opportunity to cross rim to rim to rim with a group of professional adventure racers and health crisis survivors makes for a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

The Project Athena Foundation (PAF) is offering two such trips this summer: June 1-5, and September 21-25. With PAF, you’ll see the Grand as you’ve never seen it before, push your levels of endurance, bond with an amazing group of people and help others looking for a new lease on life. When you sign up for the trip, you agree to become a god or goddess for PAF, raising money to pay for your trip and to help other survivors make their athletic dreams a reality.

My trip last year was under the guidance of PAF goddess Robyn Benincasa. Our group experienced two long days of hiking, eye-popping scenery, crappy lows, euphoric highs and a bit of rule breaking—PAF ignores the signs saying “Do Not Attempt To Hike From Rim to Rim in One Day!” We actually broke that one twice, in a span of 36 hours, starting at the South Rim, overnighting at the North Rim, and then heading back to the South Rim the next morning.

A minimum donation of $1800 covers shuttling to and from the Phoenix airport, meals, two nights lodging on the South Rim, one night’s lodging on the north rim and one nights lodging in Sedona for a bit of post hike rejuvenation. Participants also receive a Project Athena Headsweats hat, Project Athena Tech shirt, pair of Wigwam socks and free pair of Merrell shoes. Learn more at projectathena.org.

—Allison Pattillo

Choose Your Adventure
Here in Colorado, we love adventure-based vacations. And places like Rocky Mountain National Park are such an ideal setting, that we need go no further than our own backyard. As for our out-of-state friends, we direct them to Fitness Adventures USA. Owner Scott Colby’s Choose Your Adventure vacation lineup features a Colorado rafting, hiking and biking trip based out of Estes Park. Added bonus: Colby ran a bootcamp business in Dallas for five years and incorporates bootcamp-style workouts into his trips. We strongly advocate whipping vacationing Texans’ butts at high altitude. If you’d like to get your own butt whooped, you’re welcome to sign up too, or consider Colby’s adventure trips to California’s wine country and Vermont’s leaf-peeping trails.

Ah, Aspen, home of the late Hunter S., the Winter X-Games and the best-educated county in the U.S.A., Lance Armstrong’s new training ground, a place where people still wear fur and jet in for the weekend while displaying “Live Simply, So Others May Simply Live” bumper stickers. But forget those stereotypes. Aspen is badass. Don’t believe us? Take a look at the folks who work in downtown Carbondale (if you can find them in the office between rides, climbs and ski tours). When the spring hits, this place is a proving ground for outdoor athletes looking to rack up a monster day of crosstraining by combining some spring snow turns with their bike ride. So make like the locals. Here’s what we recommend.

West Elk Sweetness: Lisa Dawson swoops into late-season soft stuff at an undisclosed locaton near Marble. Photo: David Clifford/Davidcliffordphotography.com.

Spring Skiing/Snowboarding
The spring skiing options surrounding Aspen are endless but most of the action focuses on a few choice spots where you can combine some corn (or possibly powder) turns with other outdoor pursuits. Once Highway 82 opens up around Memorial Day, no place is more popular than Independence Pass-for good reason. Most of the action takes place in Fourth of July Bowl, which is why you should avoid it unless you can beat the crowds and catch the corn just as it starts to fructify. The real goal here is 13,988-foot Grizzly Peak, a default 14er that takes less than 2,000 verts to ascend from the parking lot and serves up steep, pucker-inducing couloirs and long runs. If you want more of a challenge, skip the Pass and head up 12,965-foot Mount Sopris, which looks bigger as it towers over the valley. Gear up for a 4-hour skin from the parking lot and do it in a day or enjoy the trip and camp at Thomas Lakes. From here, the summit is easy to tag and the turns in Thomas Lakes Bowl are easy to lap. If you are looking for more extreme terrain, drop off the backside of the peak into the steep, and quite dangerous, Laundry Chutes, but be sure of the conditions and your abilities first. Finally, there are the crowd-free goods up in the West Elks around Marble… but we have been sworn to secrecy where they are concerned. We suggest you make friends with a local and put out some positive vibes. For true expert advice or even avalanche training courses, hire a guide from local legend Dick Jackson’s Aspen Expeditions (877-790-2777; aspenexpeditons.com).

Fit for a King: Ricky Savi lords over his domain on Carbondale’s Prince Creek Trail. Photo: David Clifford/Davidcliffordphotography.com.

Mountain Biking
Though you have to wait for some of the area’s signature rides to melt out, you will find plenty of spring riding at lower-elevation spots like Red Hill, Basalt Mountain and The Boy Scout Trail. Another early season option, the Prince Creek trail is one of our favorites, a 15-mile out-and-back with 1,800 feet of elevation gain and rolling singletrack on the descent. The photo-op highlight is the ruins of an old Monte Carlo on the trail that you can ride up and over. For extra credit, combine a ski down Sopris with a ride down Prince Creek to town. Contact The Gear Exchange (970-945-8500) in Glenwood Springs or Aloha Mountain Cyclery (970-963-2500; alohamountaincyclery.com) in Carbondale for more beta and trail conditions.

Road Biking
Lance Armstrong trains here (on the road and the dirt). Get it. Again, talk to some locals, get ready to hammer and use your imagination. If you want to avoid traffic, the paved Rio Grande Trail runs 44 miles from Glenwood Springs to Aspen, and offers the opportunity for Euro-style touring. Leave your car in Glenwood and stay at hotels along the way in Carbondale and/or Aspen (the only downside is that it sees a ton of recreational use, so this is not a good choice for race training). One of our favorite spring options is to bike Highway 82 up Independence Pass in the spring when the plows have begun to clear the blacktop but before the road officially opens to motor traffic. Again, Gear Exchange and Aloha Mountain Cyclery can help you plan a ride, tune your bike or sell you a new one.

Seeking fresh snow and no lift lines? Montana’s rugged resorts have lots of new terrain and plenty of fresh stuff to share.

My very best day at Bridger Bowl was the worst day of the season—maybe of the last five seasons—at the legendary Montana ski area. A 10-day spring thaw got hit with a cold front the afternoon I arrived, freezing the slush into vertical fields of corrugated concrete overnight. It was like Dr. Freeze had cold-snapped a tsunami, leaving that great breaking wave of a ridge as bulletproof as a skyscraper, and just as steep.

At a mountain filled with famously diehard skiers, storied “Ridge Hippies,” extreme kings and elevation addicts, even the junkies were having second thoughts. “You boys might want to think about just staying right here, and making a day of it,” the mountain’s CFO had said to us as we sat at the bar drinking coffee, waiting for the lifts to start.

Whether I was drunk on frozen bumps or cold beer, Bloody Marys or blue ice, one thing was certain: we were going to get rocked. Most likely on the mountain, as after another 30 minutes of staring into nothing, Doug Wales finally said to me, “Well, what do you think?”

It was Wales who had arranged the trip. The marketing director at Bridger (bridgerbowl.com), he had compiled a golden itinerary of must-see Montana. And it was Wales who said, “You know, it’s all just a matter of degrees,” as we stood frozen, stranded and alone off the new Schlasman’s Lift.

He was referring to the overnight drop in temperature, and the way our skis had no grip, but also to the predicament of our pitch, and the way his ski pole had just gone skittering down the mountain like a long, silver fish.

“Well,” he said. “I guess we’ll ski this.”

It had all started out so wonderfully at the Billings Airport where Red Lodge Mountain’s eternally tan Jeff Carroll picked me up. We had gigantic steaks at the Carbon County Steakhouse (thepizzaco.com/steakhouse), and I slept at the historic red brick Pollard Hotel (thepollard.com) with its history of Ernest Hemingway coming through on fishing trips, and the plaque behind the counter with the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow quote, “Go forth to meet the shadowy future, without fear, and with a manly heart.”

Big Sky, Bigger Dumps: You won't have to fight traffic for first tracks at Red Lodge.

In the morning we did exactly that, arcing the open slopes of Nichols and Grizzly Peak, and down the steeps of Upper Continental and True Grit. Rustic, unabashed and perfectly authentic, Red Lodge (redlodgemountain.com) was a happy mix of hot skiing Montana locals, season-long day wasters and North Dakota tourists in Carhartts. When we left, I already wanted to come back, dreaming of endless sunsets as we chased the day to Chico Hot Springs to the west.

A kind of cowboy oasis and country camp day spa, Chico (chicohotsprings.com), is a mix of epicurean elegance and shit-kicking simplicity. It was the perfect gateway to Yellowstone National Park, where we rode in on the snow coach, cross-country skied into the vast silence, and watched the bursting geysers cover all the trees and creatures in primordial mist.

Then it was back to gravity and the slopes, albeit in only slightly less of a wild environment. The horizon-grabbing beauty of Lone Peak, the icon of Big Sky (bigskyresort.com), is surely one of the most iconic of the many glacial glamour summits of the west. The fact that you get to ski it can be both a blessing and a curse.

The first day, with Doug and Big Sky’s Dax Schieffer, was a blessing, as the sun painted the snow and every wide open avenue of the giant mountain was blue and crisp and fast. The second day? Not so much. The weather had already turned, and ski patrol told us that the conditions in the recently opened Snowfields were “slide for life.” Dax was devastated, but for me, an afternoon pounding the steeps all the way to neighboring Moonlight Basin, and a dinner at Andiamo with plenty of Chianti were more than enough to bring my ski-ego back.

All Alone: Take the tram to the top of Big Sky's Lone Peak and enjoy a steep leg burner.

The next day at Big Sky, Doug and I had been given more than enough clues by the time we were the only two people boarding the Schlasman’s Lift. You can’t even ride without a beacon check. Opened just two seasons ago, in an area where steep is the rule and big exposure is everywhere, this terrain is still ridiculous. What’s more ridiculous is that we were skiing it on coral hardpack, when the only thing capable of sliding was us. And Doug’s ski pole, of course.

“It still beat the hell out of a day in the bar,” he said when he finally picked up.

I’ll “ditto” that. Especially after a night in Bozeman at the Montana Ale Works (montanaaleworks.com), and waking up to all the new snow in the morning when I had to fly out. Pretty damn good time, I thought, especially if that’s as bad it gets. •

The Other Boulder: The Circle Cliffs off of the Burr Trail Road outside Boulder, Utah.

The fall is the ideal time to hit the road for the red rock vistas and canyons of southern Utah and the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

Ten years ago, interior secretary Bruce Babbitt created the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, intending its 1.9 million acres to be the crown jewel in the Bureau of Land Management’s new “Landscape Preservation System.” Last year’s Omnibus Lands Bill made that vision a reality, ensuring the monument will remain wild. And while it may be a longer drive from Denver than Moab or Canyonlands, there’s a special magic to the place that makes it worth the trip.

Hike: lower calf Creek Falls

Southern Utah is filled with so many stunning red rock vistas and canyons and waterfalls that they all seem to blur into one after a while despite all that sublime splendor. Calf Creek Falls lives up to the billing. The 12 mile round trip hike to the lower falls is quite simply one of the very best in the U.S. and a must-do if you only have a day in the area.

ut.blm.gov/monument/

Canyon: Dry Fork of Coyote Gulch

Just off the Hole-in-the-Rock Road outside the town of Escalante, this classic beginner’s slot canyon playground features four narrow canyons. each with its own unique charm. The most accessible (as long as you are not too much of a widebody) is Spooky, a one-mile long perfect slot that is no wider than two feet across the entire way. It’s a perfect playground for kids (who may fit thorugh easier than adults in spots). Next up, Peek-a-boo requires a short climb to reach and then wanders back through water-sculpted, window-shaped chambers and muddy pools. The most difficult slot here, Brimstone is dark and lonely and gets too tight to pass all the way through (a tourist was once stuck in it for five days) and not a place for the kids. If you simply want to walk up a beautiful red rock canyon, the upper end of Dry Fork itself is well worth wandering in for several miles.

ut.blm.gov/monument/

Multi-Day Slot: Paria canyon

Located in the neighboring Vermillion Cliffs National Monument, the Paria is the big daddy of slot cayons—a backpacking trip that follows the tight narrows for fifty miles, requiring a trip of anywhere from three to six days to navigate the system. Start at the Wire Pass trailhead, which access the Paria through an even tighter slot. Be sure to make reservations for a permit months in advance since only 20 people are allowed to start the hike each day. It’s also possible to make day trips down Buckskin Gulch, the Paria or Wire Pass if you miss out on a permit.

bit.ly/9GcqTG

Eat Organic: Hell’s Backbone Grill

Long before organic and local were the buzz words for hipsters across the country, Jen Castle and Blake Spalding opened the Hell’s Backbone Grill in tiny Boulder, Utah. With a menu that’s constantly changing to reflect the season, it was one of the first restaurants in the U.S. to focus on organic food. Everything seved here is local, too, coming from from the Four Corners region and influenced by the recipes of the Native Americans and Mormon settlers who lived here. Boulder straddles the red rock desert and mountians, making it extremely biodiverse—a wdie tange of food from pinon pine nuts to honey to chiles is natural to the region and the restaurant sources food from its own farm and gardens as well as local growers and ranchers. Those efforts have garnered numerous awards, including one from the Museum of Northern Arizona and the Center for Sustainable Environments for being “Culture Bearers of Sustainability in the Four Corners Region.” Beyond all that, the food is incredible. Be sure to make reservations.

435-335-7464; hellsbackbonegrill.com

Get Lost: Wandering up Harris Wash.

There’s more to adventure than sailing up on Grand Lake

Serene boating and antler-art shopping may be your vision of a weekend in Grand Lake (“grand,” perhaps, for the multimillion dollar homes encircling its waters). But don’t be fooled: With Rocky Mountain National Park (RMNP) surrounding it on three sides, Grand Lake has big potential for adventure. So while your caffeine-revved comrades crowd the interstate headed for more obvious locales—Breck, Vail, Aspen—clip in or boot up, and enjoy these epics.

Spin: Bike from the Front Range over Trail Ridge to Grand Lake.

- The Tour de Rocky -
Starting in Estes Park or another Front Range locale, cycle to Grand Lake over the continental divide through RMNP. The apex 48-mile Trail Ridge Road is so spectacular you may not even notice your lungs, legs and head bursting from the altitude (12,183 feet at top). Arrange a car shuttle with a friend, or (preferred) bike it out and back with a sig other, staying overnight in Grand Lake. Consider the Western Riviera (westernriv.com, 970-627-3580), which has lakeshore access for a post-road cool-off in alpine waters. Of course, Grand Lake also makes a good starting point. On your ride, check out spectacular wildlife—elk, eagles, pika, North American homo sapiens barely able to remove themselves from their cars and the occasional shy moose browsing on shrubs.

- Hike Across the Divide -
Day 1: Leave one car at Bear Lake in RMNP. Take a second car to Grand Lake; chill out and prepare for your monster hike. Get your burger fix at Miyauchi’s then follow up with a White Cap Wheat or Plaid Bastard microbrew at the Grand Lake Brewing Co (grandlakebrewing.com, 970-627-1711).

Day 2: Starting from the North Inlet Trail, hike east toward Cascade Falls. The trail offers some of the best peak-studded scenery in the Park, passing below Hallet Peak, over Flattop Mountain (the continental divide), and finally descending to Bear Lake. If you decide to break the 18+ mile hike into multiple days, a handful of designated backcountry campsites can be reserved. They fill up fast in the summer; permits are required. Obtain one in person at the Beaver Meadows Visitor Center on the east side or the Kawuneeche Visitor Center on the west side of RMNP. For more info on hiking and camping in RMNP, go to nps.gov/romo.

Boot: Or hike from Bear Lake.

- Strawberry/Doe Creek Single Track -
Why haven’t you heard of this sweet 22-mile ride? Probably because it requires some hike-a-biking up steep, loose slopes. But the rideable parts are fully worth the inconvenience (think tire-wide singletrack through grassy meadows). For directions visit singletracks.com/bike-trails/strawberry-doe-creek.html. Treat yourself before the ride with fresh cinnamon rolls from Betty’s Café and Bakery (970-627-1934) or wash up and enjoy a romantic riverside dinner afterwards at the Rapids Lodge and Restaurant (rapidslodge.com, 970-627-3707). •

More to check out in Grand Lake
Rent a kayak or sport boat at the Grand Lake Marina.
glmarina.com, 970-627-9273
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Get your fancy omelets, pastries, fresh fruit, and chocolate fondue at Caroline’s Cuisine, off highway 34 at the Soda Springs Ranch.
sodaspringsranch.com, 970-627-9404
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Hike 3.3 miles to the Shadow Mountain Fire Lookout. Originally built in 1930, the tower offers a spectacular view of Grand Lake, RMNP and Arapahoe National Forest.

Who says the race is for the young? More and more endurance athletes are rising to the top of their game as they age. Is that success due to their experience as wily veterans or can a lifetime of training pay late dividends?

Age is clearly no longer the limiting factor it once was at sport’s elite level, a point Lance Armstrong hopes to prove when he returns with team RadioShack to the Tour de France this July. Armstrong will be 39 when he attempts to add an eighth Tour victory to his list of career wins, but nothing says he won’t be able to do it because of his age. In fact, a couple more grey hairs might make Lance even more formidable.

Enduring Lance: At 39, Armstrong will shoot for Tour victory No. 8 again this year. He's been keeping those old bones spry training in Carbondale and competing in the Leadville 100.

Quite a few athletes over 40 have been raising eyebrows recently, with notable performances from characters as varied as Minnesota Vikings quarterback Brett Farve and Mexican Olympic skier Hubertus von Hohenlohe. The only Mexican athlete at the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics, Hohenlohe, 51, was also the oldest competitor at the games. Though finishing 46th in the Giant Slalom was his best result, as he said, “Don’t look at my time; Look at my style.”

More and more often, elite athletes in all manner of different sports are finding that time is on their side. True, you can’t stop time, and there’s an inevitable decline in aerobic capacity and recovery rate that comes with age. Studies have shown, for instance, the fast-twitch muscles responsible for speed and short bursts of power start to deteriorate in your late 20s. But the good news for aging athletes is the slow-twitch muscles needed for endurance sports can thrive well into your 40s.

“OLD MAN POWER”
As any rookie cyclist who’s been outlasted by a group of retirees on a club ride can attest, old guys can go the distance. But is that because of a lifetime spent building up their slow-twitch muscles or some mystic wisdom learned over countless hours of pedal rotations? According to Armstrong’s coach, Chris Carmichael, it’s actually a bit of both.

“I call it Old Man Power,” he says. “It has to do with the time those old guys have spent at high intensities over their years of riding.” Years of strenuous aerobic workouts build up your ability to utilize fuel efficiently during exercise. So even though young guys have a higher V02 max – the maximum capacity of an individual’s body to transport and utilize oxygen during exercise – and can recover more quickly, older dudes can sustain hard intensities—though not maximal—long enough to wear young guys out. Simply put: a 25-year-old would likely beat an experienced 40-year-old in a 50-meter sprint. In a half-marathon, however, you might want to put your money on the older guy.

According to Jay T. Kearney, Ph.D., of the United States Olympic Committee, the key is oxygen supply. Most endurance sports don’t require an athlete to go anaerobic—where the muscles’ demand for oxygen outstrips the supply—so older athletes who have a lower lactate threshold than in their youth aren’t at a disadvantage. But most importantly, a career’s worth of training can enhance other aspects of an athlete’s ability.

EXPERIENCE PAYS
Ralph Vernacchia, Ph.D., Director at the Center for Performance Excellence and Professor of Physical Education at Western Washington University, says years of practice can give a 40-year old athlete an advantage impossible for a younger competitor to match. “Sometimes we use the word ‘older’ when we should really be saying ‘experienced,’” he says. “You’re talking about the lifespan of an athlete, and—just like a normal lifespan for an individual—as you get older, you get wiser. Experienced athletes understand not only the physical, but the mental, emotional and spiritual side of sports.”

Vernacchia advises older athletes not to try to force a result or performance, but instead be patient and have confidence that the cumulative effect of years of training and preparation will allow the best performances to come naturally.

“You can’t overpower a sport,” he advises. “Experienced athletes know that. They don’t force it. Instead, they let it happen.”

For Rebecca Rusch, 40, who last year became the consecutive three-time 24-Hour Solo Mountain Biking World Champion and won the women’s title in her first ever Leadville 100, maturing physically as an athlete took a back seat to the mental and emotional maturation that allowed her to leave younger competitors in the dust. “I have 12 years of training, so during competition, my brain says, ‘Yeah, I’ve felt this before. I know I’ve pushed through this before. I know I can ride for 24 hours. I know it’s going to hurt, but I can do it.’”

Matthew Weatherley-White, Rusch’s coach, agrees. “[Athletes] have to understand what every little sensation means and how it will impact their ability to sustain an effort,” he says. “You have to become familiar with discomfort. You must build a deep reservoir of stubbornness. Habits must form that support your engagement with a race. There are literally hundreds of things like this that must be aggregated, brick by brick, into the foundation that allows you to excel. No matter how tough you are, or how focused, or how gifted, you can’t accelerate it.”

Carmichael, too, attributes much of the success of slightly older Grand Tour cyclists to their experience. “It takes a long time for a cyclist to gain the fitness to race 21 days out of 23 and be on top of his game for every pedal stroke,” he says. “It also takes that long for most riders to gain the tactical maturity to win the biggest and most pressure packed events in cycling.”

How does Rebecca Rusch keep so competitive? Well timed rest (and having fun) are key.

REST, INVEST, AND KEEP AT IT
Caring for the body also takes on added significance later in an athlete’s career, and increased attention paid to massage, structured rest and recovery techniques pay off.

“We understand, at a more experienced level, the value of rest, restoration and recovery,” Vernacchia says. “If you put your nose to the grindstone, you’re only going to end up with a flat nose.”

Rusch says many of her recent victories can actually be attributed to training less than she has in the past, but with an enhanced focus. “Now, my training is more specific. Instead of feeling I have to go out for a ten hour ride, it’s more about, ‘I need to do one hour of intervals, but it has to be quality.’ I feel like I’m wasting less time and getting more out of my training than I ever have before,” she says.

Many older athletes are also better able to devote the time, effort and money required to keep their body in top form.

“Look at Dara Torres,” says Kearney, referring to the the 40-year-old three-time silver medalist at the 2008 summer Olympics. “Dara’s overall strength training, massage, physical therapy and nutrition program is costing her hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. How many collegiate-age athletes are capable of that?”

But that doesn’t mean you need an extra hundred G’s to stay in top form through your golden years. Kearney says obeying a few of the basic tenants of sports and fitness are enough to keep older athletes in the game. To start, don’t get lazy.

“One of the most important behaviors is to continue to participate and stay in near competitive shape,” he says, pointing out how an active person’s fitness declines at a slower rate than an inactive person as they age.

Avoiding injury caused by overtraining, and committing to competitively full rehabilitation if injured also plays an important role in continued endurance fitness. Says Kearney, many aging athletes see their fitness fall prey to a mounting set of small, nagging but detrimental injuries.

Weatherley-White says taking part in yoga practices and having regular therapeutic massage can play a big part in sustaining performance. Aside from that, he believes the most important factor related to maintaining athletic prowess may also be the most simple. The magic ingredient? Rest.

“As you get older you have to trust the hard work you do sets the stage for fitness and strength,” he says. “But it’s the recovery that really lets that happen.”

Weatherley-White has altered Rusch’s training schedule accordingly, and while in her youth she may have only taken a single rest day a week, she now follows a three days on, one day off plan. For Rusch, he says, effective training has become much more a science of regeneration than a science of exercise.

THE REVOLUTION
While there’s still no definitive consensus within the scientific community about the best ways to age within your sport, Weatherley-White for one is confident we’re living through an athletic revolution. “We’re in the process right now of rewriting all the rules regarding aging and athletic performance,” he says. “If you have an open mind towards the capacities of the human body, don’t let the assumptions of old science drive the decisions you make. We’re reinventing ourselves as we go.”

In fact, evidence suggests older athletes sometimes succeed simply because they know they might never have another chance to try. Pitcher Jamie Moyer, for instance, started for the Phillies in Game Three of the 2008 World Series at age 45—despite suffering from a severe stomach virus.

“He said, ‘I’m pitching,’ and he had a great performance,” says Vernacchia, who’s worked with elite athletes like Moyer for his entire career. “The reason for that was because he knew he might never be there again. This was his last shot, and he wanted to leave his mark. It was the urgency of the moment.”

“All athletes should be doing that every time they compete, because we’re never guaranteed another time, another chance, another tomorrow,” says Vernacchia. “But I think it really comes to the front as you get older and your opportunities diminish. You realize it’s now, or never.” •

Sean Leslie is a Seattle-based freelance writer and wannabe outdoorsman.

For an early fix of desert, whitewater, biking and beer, head to southwestern Colorado this April. This local’s guide will give you all the beta you need for a springtime road trip.

Situated in the oft-forgotten southwestern corner of Colorado some 340 miles from Denver, Durango hangs in the balance between mountains and desert, cow town and college town. For locals, that means the best of all possible worlds. You’ve got 14,000-foot mountains to the north, desert to the south and, in town, a hearty river and an entertaining mixture of yuppies, hippies, hipsters and ranchers. Thanks to a favorable longitude and a middling altitude (6,500 feet), spring comes earlier to this historic railroad center than other mountain towns. In April, the weather turns pleasantly mild, trails are generally dry enough to ride and the snowmelt amps up rapids on the Animas River. Now’s the moment to call first dibs on the season of renewal.

Cruisin’

MOUNTAIN BIKING

Let Moab hog the limelight. Moab locals actually vacation in Durango because the miles of forested and desert singletrack here remain blissfully people-free. In spring, Horse Gulch, an arid 30-plus-mile tangle of trails on the southeast end of town, dries first. Trail maps are erected at every intersection, as if Durangoans were expecting company, and Hassle Free Sports ($40 for half day, hasslefreesports.com) rents bikes.

ROAD BIKING

All the local wheel geeks are preparing for the Iron Horse Bicycle Classic, which takes the town by storm every Memorial Day weekend. To train, cruise the relatively traffic-free, pastoral County Road 250 to Baker’s Bridge, then loop south on Highway 550 for a total of 27 miles. Ambitious riders can head north on 550 to the top of Coal Bank Pass to add another 40 miles round-trip, a 4,000-vertical-foot climb and stupidly pretty mountain views.

RAFTING

The snowmelt that fuels the Animas River funnels into the San Juan River and eventually the Colorado, but Durango gets it first. Local outfitter Mild to Wild (mild2wildrafting.com) offers two modes of transportation for the popular town run—rafts or inflatable kayaks. Highlights are Smelter and Santa Rita, among other Class II and III rapids, views of historic Durango and good native-watching, especially on Friday afternoons.

Floatin’

BOULDERING

A little-known fact about Durango: Local climbers have helped develop 100-plus boulder problems in an area called Sailing Hawks just a 20-minute hike from town. Stop by Pine Needle Mountaineering (pineneedle.com) on Main Street to pick up manager Ian Allison’s guidebook, Durango Bouldering, and then head to the trailhead on Junction Creek Rd. Circumnavigating the garage-sized warm-up boulder will get the lactic acid flowing.

KICKING IT IN TOWN

Morning: The aptly named bakery Bread (970-247-5100), located at the intersection of Florida and County Road 250, makes an array of delectable carbohydrate bombs. Rejoice if you happen to drop by on the day they make maple-oat scones. For a full breakfast, try College Drive Café (970-247-5322), which has an extensive selection of eggs benedict.

Afternoon: Trimble Hot Springs (from $8, trimblehotsprings.com) is about seven miles north of town but worth the schlep for the pine-ensconced mineral hot pool that hovers around 98 degrees, depending on the earth’s mood. Keep an eye out for deer, owls and the occasional Texan.

Evening: Durango is a town of many microbreweries—four, to be exact. Start with Durango Brewing Company (durangobrewing.com) for a Durango Amber and a local grass-fed-beef burger. Or save your appetite for East by Southwest (eastbysouthwest.com), an Asian bistro with a Southwestern flair. (Think chile-spiked sushi.)

Overlookin’

Night: The lodging choices in Durango fall in two camps—nameless motels or kitschy Victorian hotels—with one notable exception: Nobody’s Inn (nobodysinn.com). A renovated boarding house on Main Street, the four rooms have kitchens, a mix of modern and antique wooden furnishings and bold wall colors that give it a funky, modern feel.

Late Night: Moe’s Starlight Lounge (970-259-9018) is about as cheesy as it sounds, but the bartenders know how to make a good martini. Choose from a three-page menu of varying potencies. The last stop for any night on the town tends to be El Rancho (elranchotavern.com), the ultimate dive bar that’s best sampled when already well-lubed.

If you’re looking for real roots music in authentic surroundings, take a trip back in time.

The “thump-thump” of feet tapping on plank floorboards while keeping time to a musical tune hasn’t changed much over the years—whether it’s cowboy boots or Keens. The twain do meet in Colorado’s local grange halls. Considered the communication hub of their rural landscape for over a hundred years, farmers, ranchers and homesteaders gathered frequently within the walls of the simple wooden buildings to discuss agricultural, political and civic issues—and jammin’­­­­.

Fourth-generation granger, Donlyn Arbuthnot, describes the grange as the Internet of the day. “It was a line of communication for the rural community and provided an opportunity to have a political voice.” By joining efforts, farmers and homesteaders helped to fight price fixing by the railroads, strengthened bargaining powers to buy supplies and to sell their crops. In addition, they served as centers for social and cultural events. In 1896, Arbuthnot’s grandfather, who was a founder of the Altona Grange #127, helped build the permanent site in Longmont. Her father grew up attending meetings played in the band and met her mother at a picnic at the grange. After members attended meetings a dance or a concert ensued.

And in the 21st century? Grange halls still offer a valuable resource for entertainment, including performances by local folk, country and bluegrass bands. Arbuthnot, a former “master” (president) of the Altona Grange and a historian says, “we have a vision of the building being used as a community center, as active as it once was. Music concerts are only the beginning.”

Anita Hoyer, “overseer” (vice president) of the Pikes Peak Grange #163, says “our goal is to keep the doors of the Grange open to keep our historic building operating.” Concerts act as fundraisers for the grange. “We are working to get some of the good old times back and give back to the community,” she adds.

Justin Hoffenberg, fiddle player of the bluegrass band Long Road Home says, “I like playing at the grange halls because they have a much more intimate vibe than many bigger venues. The history of the building tends to shine through. Sometimes there isn’t even a stage, which definitely adds to the crowd’s sense that they are a part of the show.”

“Music has been a tradition at the grange since its beginning,” reminisces Donlyn Arbuthnot. “The old building seems to resonate with happiness when the bluegrass bands take the stage.”

So how to experience grange bands? Pikes Peak Grange #163 (pikespeakrgange.com) offers concerts throughout the year and a Gospel bluegrass jam the second sunday of each month. Left Hand Grange #9, established in Niwot 1873, reopened after renovations and repairs were completed (lefthandgrange.org). Altona Grange #127 partners with Colorado Bluegrass Society to bring a series of three concerts to the grange every fall. Check altonagrange.pbworks.com for concerts and events throughout the year. And Westminster Grange hosts old-time community dances with live Americana music (ci.westminster.co.us/131.htm). •

Sometimes the danger is part of the allure.

High in the San Juans, the steep white gash of the Mongoose opens at the top of the north face of 12,800-foot Reconnoiter Peak. The line spirals down a 1,000-foot couloir, pinches into a 45-degree slot—the likely trigger zone should the slope unleash—and then spills out into a broad avalanche cone that collects snow blown off the top of the peak, piling up some of the deepest, freshest, lightest powder this side of paradise.

Skin and Bony: The slog up to the Mongoose is rocky and wind-blasted.

I had been staring at the Mongoose for several days, wanting and not wanting to do it, arguing with myself over whether it was safe or unsafe, sane or insane. And now, true to form, I’m standing at the top, peering down into it, trying to get a read on it, psyching myself up for it.

“I’m going down first,” says Joe Ryan, owner of the San Juan Hut system. A lean, leathery ex-guide in his late 50s, Joe has notched first descents throughout the range and across North America.

I nod and fit my boots into my tele bindings, careful not to let the skis slip. I had removed the runaway straps on Joe’s recommendation—the skis could pull me into a slide. I test the snow with my poles, breathe deep and pray to Our Lady of the Perpetually Stable Snowpack.

Is this a great idea or really, really stupid?

The San Juans have some of lightest, driest snow in Colorado—and some of the least stable. Having skied the range for 25 years, Joe’s survived his share of avalanches. He’s cool and calculating in evaluating the snowpack, scoffing at the conventional approach of digging pits in favor of “feeling the slope,” skiing up to it, poking it with a pole, muttering about it and to it. He’s a snow whisperer.

“White marble,” he says, indicating the snow at the top of the Mongoose. Unconsolidated spindrift has blown off the ridge and landed on top of the hard wind slab, making for good turns, but a spooky base. He pokes through the slab with his pole.

“Sounds drummy.” The hollow layer could collapse. “Wait until I get down there.”

Joe makes quick, effective, hopping parallel turns, working back and forth like a windshield wiper—controlled, rhythmic, methodical. He stops at a side gulley.

“Take a few turns,” he shouts. “Then stop, look, listen.”

“Will do,” I say. “Here I go!”

When I had booked this four-day trip at the San Juan Hut system several months earlier, I had no intention of descending the Mongoose. The plan was to ski as much powder as possible. Once I made the reservation, I assembled a team of ski buddies—Mike, Tom, Mark and Jon. Most of us are in our 40s now, with wives and families. We relish getting out into the woods to blow off steam and wear ourselves out without pushing the limits too far. I’ve ratcheted back my appetite for risk as I spend more time managing my kids’ science fair projects and less time in the backcountry. But even the best of intentions can crumble when I spot a really magnificent line.

We started out by skinning to the Ridgway Hut. One of five huts in the San Juan Huts system, it provides access to the most varied and advanced ski terrain. The next day, we toured to the Cobra, a 40-degree chute stuffed with powder, but Joe warned us off it. Instead, he skirted to the left, descended 100 yards, found a spot behind a grove of alpine firs and assessed the snowpack.

The powder was 12 inches deep, with a hollow slab underneath. Joe poked through the slab with his pole, exposing unconsolidated snow beneath.

“Try to ski it gently!” he shouted up to Mark.

Mark cranked a few tight turns, then caught a tip and took a header. The slope didn’t crack, shudder or release. He got up, dusted himself off, and continued.

“We tested that slope,” Joe said, grinning. “No need to dig a pit. Just send the telemarker down!”

We continued down the side of the chute. Joe went first, checking things out. I was impressed with Joe’s care in reading the snow. He seemed to know what he was doing.

That night we cooked a big pasta dinner, talked about the day’s skiing and caught up about wives, ex-wives, families and kids. We regaled each other with stories from previous trips and strategized about trips to come. Then Joe started talking up the Mongoose. “It’s a stimulating climb and approach,” he said. “The views are spectacular. I’m not a used car salesman, but it’s an amazing ski.”

He knew exactly what buttons to push.

The next day, we headed up toward the Mongoose. At the ridge leading up Reconnoiter Peak, we scoped out the approach. The wind picked up, blowing ice and snow across the face. I was breathing hard from the altitude and didn’t like the look of the weather. I decided to forgo the Mongoose and ski the trees with Mark and Jon.

“I’ll check it out for you,” Joe said.
Later that evening, when he arrived back at the cabin, his cheeks were flush, his blue eyes bright with excitement. “I thought of my daughter and a few women … and then dropped in,” he said. “It was the goods.”

The sun was dazzling as we skinned up toward the ridge the next morning. After three days at altitude, my body was starting to acclimatize. I felt fresh, energetic, primed to push higher.

Tom, Mark and Mike peeled off to ski the lower end of Mongoose. Joe, Jon and I headed up to the ridge, planning to drop into the top of the couloir. We retraced our skin tracks, gaining the ridge quickly. At the top, we headed up to the shoulder of Reconnoiter Peak. We lashed our skis to our packs. Steep snow gave way to a rock ledge plastered with ice. Joe used the rock above for handholds and worked his way toward the shoulder. I followed. Jon came next, moving warily.

“I’m going to bail,” Jon said finally.

Joe kept going, following a steep line to the left of a rock band. The snow was as unconsolidated as granulated sugar, the rock broken and shattered. It didn’t look appealing, especially in tele boots, but I kept going, wanting a shot at the Mongoose.

No Ordinary Joe: The San Juan Hut System’s Joe Ryan can beat you down with a smile.

Below the ridge top, we came to a short steep step of snow and rock. Balancing on ski poles, I tip-toed up the ramp, fitting the tips of the boots into the toeholds. After 30 feet, I reached a rock ledge, grabbed a handhold, and then shoved my ski poles up ahead of me. I climbed the rock and moved the poles higher. I tried not to think too hard about what I was doing or why. Finally, I mantled over the last ledge and breathing hard, hauled my ass over the top.

Joe followed, barely seeming to exert himself.

Then we ascended a short, steep step to gain the broad back of Reconnoiter Peak. After riveting my attention on the rock and snow in front of me, it was a relief to see the horizon open out in all directions. The Sneffels Range rose to our right, a ripsaw ridge of peaks and steep couloirs just waiting to be climbed and skied. As we kept going, the views broadened to the La Sal Mountains and Grand Mesa to the north. The high, blue, windless skies seemed to go on forever.

When we arrived at the top of the Mongoose it was hard to see how steep it was. I’d just have to take Joe’s word for it. My heart was pumping as we worked our way down the loose scree at the top of the couloir. The slot was cold, silent, a vertical meat-locker. I was in the Mongoose.

Joe calls for me to come down. I stem-christie the first turn, bringing my left leg out and around, un-weighting my right, trying to skim over the surface powder without gouging into the slab. I repeat the sequence with my right leg, plowing through the six inches of snow on top.

I stop, look, listen. No cracks. No fissures. No whumps. Nothing but the sound of my breathing, unnaturally loud in the stillness. Joe claimed the couloir did not have “a high pucker factor.” I beg to differ. I keep going, making tight, careful, fear-jagged turns. The couloir widens to 50 feet, but I hug the right side, not wanting to disturb the slope any more than necessary.

“Wait there,” Joe calls up to me. “When I tell you, move down to where I am now.”

He descends further, then stops above the crux, a 60-degree slope, where the couloir narrows to 25 feet and bulges out in a convex arc, the most likely trigger point for a slide.

Joe had explained the physics of it on the way up. The continental snowpack is especially treacherous in the San Juan Mountains. It snows in September, and then the snow lies on the ground and rots out. The crystals lose their cohesion and become like sugar snow or ball bearings. Then it snows again over this weak layer, which makes a defined bed surface which can trigger an avalanche.

Working deliberately, Joe side-slips down it. I wait above, wondering what I’ll do if does slide.

“Yo!” he yells a minute later.

It’s my turn. I make short, ugly parallel turns, skimming through the powder and feeling the slab below, tight as a drumhead. At the trigger zone, I side-slip, not wanting to risk a fall. Exiting, I heave a big sigh of relief. Our Lady of the Perpetually Stable Snowpack was listening.

“Let’s ski down to the end of that low ridge,” Joe says. “Careful, there’s hardpack under the powder.” He takes off, cutting tight curlicues in the light snow. The couloir widens out to a huge avalanche fan. The thrill and intensity of the chute ease, but this terrain is also slide-prone.

Joe stops and calls for me to come down. Picking up speed, I work back and forth, inscribing wide arcs in the soft snow, my thighs straining, my lungs heaving, the skis chattering and whispering beneath me.

When I reach Joe, I stop and look back up at the Mongoose. It glows like an apparition in the late afternoon light.

“That was amazing!” I say.

“The danger is part of the allure,” he says, beaming. “You see what you can get away with. We didn’t get caught.”

The danger indeed—the fierce, heart-pumping intensity of the couloir and the cool head Joe had displayed in skiing it.

We hit the textured, wind-rippled powder next, the small wavelets looking like the side of a mackerel. Joe turns on the windshield wipers. I follow, opening up my stance, matching my turns to the terrain, moving left, moving right, whacking one fir tree, glancing off another. The powder billows around me like a halo.

I keep going, faster and faster and faster, the trees blurring by me, grinning as if I’ve gotten away with something, channeling the fierceness of the Mongoose and trying to bring it all back into the world below. •

Nick O’Connell contributes to Outside, National Geographic Adventure and Newsweek, and teaches for The Writer’s Workshop (thewritersworkshop.net).

To set up a trip, contact the San Juan Hut System at 970-626-3033, info@sanjuanhuts.com, sanjuanhuts.com

Despite the sprawl, Colorado could be welcoming back its charismatic megafauna. Wolves and wolverines have been crossing the border and grizzly bears may not be far behind. But can the Centennial State save the big swaths of land these predators need to make a true comeback?

On the Prowl: Male wolverines that have crossed the Colorado border can only thrive if females follow.

On Friday, May 22, 2009, a male wolverine wearing a radio collar slipped across the Colorado border from Wyoming and steadily made his way to Rocky Mountain National Park. Having traveled roughly 500 miles from his home in Wyoming’s Teton Range, the rare weasel-like creature was retracing steps that hadn’t been taken by his species in 90 years. Chances are, say biologists, the wolverine was expanding his territory and setting out in pursuit of a future mate and home.

Four months later, wolverine M56 was still in Colorado, somewhere around the Indian Peaks Wilderness. That he managed to navigate this far south and cross over I-80 unharmed is remarkable, says Bob Inman, head of the Greater Yellowstone Wolverine Project.

“In the last two years, we’ve had the first documented wolverines (both males) in California and Colorado in 100 years,” says Inman. “It almost seems like the population is maybe even starting to rebound.”

Possibly. A true rebound would require females, without which there won’t be future wolverines. Still, the wolverine’s return is a cause for celebration; that an animal once extirpated from a formerly wild state could make an independent return triggers the ecological imagination. M56’s journey indicates there are enough wild tracts (biologists call them “migration corridors”) to facilitate such a trip. If that’s true, then others will likely follow. Should that happen, Colorado could house a new wolverine population, which would recreate a level of wildness that some had written off as lost.

If a Centennial recovery may be possible for wolverines, what about other extirpated wild species? If M56 made it here by hop-scotching from the Tetons to the Snake River Range to the Medicine Bows, over I-80, to the Never Summer Range and, eventually, to the Indian Peaks, certainly other wild, furry mammals (staidly known by biologists as “charismatic megafauna”) could also migrate from the biologically-rich Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem (GYE) south to Colorado. And if they do, is there enough room for them here to thrive?

The short answer—when talking about the predators that often adorn the posters of conservation groups—is yes. Gray wolves reintroduced to Wyoming and Idaho in 1995 have repeatedly proven their adaptability as they continue to den outside of Yellowstone National Park and live near human developments. Grizzly bears require high alpine ecosystems filled with prey like deer and elk—of which Colorado has much. Wild cats can also thrive here, as evidenced by the booming mountain lion population and a state-operated lynx reintroduction program that’s had progressive success.

Consider this, a lynx reintroduction program begun in 1999 is yielding small but promising results. In the past decade, the Colorado Division of Wildlife has reintroduced 218 lynx, which are listed as threatened under the federal Endangered Species Act, and have confirmed a total of 126 kittens born, initial success toward reaching the goal of a recovered lynx population. Less rare species, like moose, bighorn sheep, and mule dear are also thriving, with their populations rebounding from historic lows.

“Colorado is always going to be more fragmented than the Northern Rockies, that’s a given,” says Colorado Division of Wildlife (DOW) lead biologist Rick Kahn. “We’ll never look the same as Montana or Idaho. But the lynx program proves you can put these animals in a much less wild situation and they are adaptable.”

Return of the Natives?
Charismatic megafauna may already be here—in fact, two official wolf sightings (and more unofficial ones) have occurred in Colorado since 2007. M56’s successful journey demonstrates that a viable corridor exists, and if the populations get squeezed up north, individuals may head south. Estimates for the Northern Rockies wolf population in 2008 counted roughly 1,650 wolves in 217 packs in Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming. And in 2007, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service removed the roughly 600 Yellowstone grizzlies from the endangered species list, following a recovery program that cost more than $20 million, so that population could also start to spread out.

Even though the state could theoretically sustain populations of these big predators, there are no plans to reintroduce them, says Kahn. Reintroduction and recovery programs are costly and controversial; widespread protests by ranchers, outfitters, and even the states of Idaho and Wyoming clipped the heels of the 1995 grey wolf recovery program. Put those wild animals in Colorado where there are more roads, ranches, mines, ski areas and housing developments in the vicinity where wolves and bears are likely to congregate, and you have a large public relations problem on your hand.

“Wolf management is very expensive,” says Susan Linner, Field Supervisor of the Colorado Field Office of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. “Someone has to absorb that cost for the Colorado Division of Wildlife if wolves were here. Not only would that alienate their major stockholders [hunters and outfitters], it is very time intensive to manage these wolves.”

Besides, today’s conservation priorities aren’t the predatory mammals, says Linner. The species most at risk in Colorado are those on the plains—mammals and birds, alike—whose homes have given way to the plow, subdivisions, changed fire regimes and more. The black footed ferret prebles meadow jumping mouse, lesser prairie chicken, and greater sage grouse are a few of the species whose decimated habitats have led to worrying population declines and spurred extensive conservation efforts and partnerships between state and federal agencies, non profits, and individuals.

Save the Prairie
According to Matt Kale, USFWS spokesman, Colorado’s conservation is at a “watershed moment.” Specifically, efforts to protect large swatches of land from development—through conservation easements, watershed restoration, species protection and more—are attempting to stitch together more complete landscapes reminiscent of Colorado 100 years ago.

Recently, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service embarked on a plan to develop a broader vision for species conservation that attempts to compensate for climate change-influenced alterations to the landscape. Specifically, the agency is in the process of forming “Landscape Conservation Cooperatives,” partnerships with a multitude of other agencies and organizations interested in conservation that will go into effect in 2010.

“We can’t conserve a single species on a single piece of ground,” says Kale. “When we’re talking about large landscapes, we’re talking about connectivity and ensuring linkages remain intact.”

In other words, the agency hopes to triage conservation efforts to encompass larger areas and cover a variety of species with different recovery needs. Colorado does claim two federally managed national grasslands that cover 633,000 acres, but the habitat needs to be larger and better linked. The Nature Conservancy actively seeks out partnerships with state and federal agencies, and Chris Pague, the Nature Conservancy’s senior conservation ecologist for Colorado, agrees that the state’s conservation needs are highest on the plains.

“We have changed a lot with fire and grazing regimes,” says Pague. “The grasslands of the world are the most altered and the least protected of the big system ecosystem habitat type.”

According to Pague, 42 percent of the country’s great plains has been altered by urbanization and agriculture. With this comes a social disconnect from the grasslands, our traditional breadbasket, which can have severe results.

“We are connected to grasslands,” he says. “The soils are really important for us and the meat raising part of the world depends on grasslands. In Colorado, this is where our species of concerns are.”

Through a program called “Measures of Success,” The Nature Conservancy is attempting to quantify the threats to the landscape, measure the conservation efforts and evaluate their efficacy.

“There are a lot of people doing good conservation out there, but the key is getting to the finish line,” says Pague. “Are we doing what we need to and what we think we are? Our board wanted to know if we were ‘winning,’ if the methods we were using at the time were working.”

The initial conclusion was that the work wasn’t protecting enough habitat at a fast enough rate. In Colorado, the Nature Conservancy identified myriad opportunities that fall into the following categories: local (i.e. preventing extinction of a specific species at a specific location), landscape (where opportunities exist to reintroduce the natural fire regime to make timber stands and other ecosystems more resilient and resistant to climate change) and private land.

“Landowners have learned so much about conservation and there’s a wide move to get to sustainable agriculture activities,” says Pague. “We are getting closer and closer to where our goals match up, and we have very successful partnerships with the cattleman’s association and others.”

But not everyone supports restoring the plains to benefit species such as the Prebles’ meadow jumping mouse or to return animals listed under the federal Endangered Species Act to their native lands. The conservative Mountain States Legal Foundation, a Colorado-based non-profit law firm dedicated to “individual liberty,” has supported lawsuits to remove the mouse from the endangered species list and to block Colorado’s lynx reintroduction program. In addition, the organization, which employed former U.S. Secretary of Interior Gale Norton from 1979 to 1983, supports lawsuits throughout the West to continue to allow natural resource extraction, like mining and forestry, and agriculture to continue, even when potential conflicts with threatened and endangered species arise.

Stag Party?
So what’s the future hold for M56? To Inman, the wolverine biologist from the GYWP, there’s still room for conservation efforts to encourage disbursement of wolverines.

“With modern-day roads, we’re not sure if females are willing and able to travel those distances that males do,” he says “The most significant conservation improvement we could make would be helping them get back to this public land.”

By help, he means bring the ladies. Wolverines prefer high alpine habitats, right around tree line. To return to their historic high mountain habitat (concentrated today in big chunks of public land in Wyoming, Utah, Colorado and California), scientists may need to play matchmaker, relocating females and making it easier for the wandering males to find a mate. They also need to continue to call for programs that protect the migration corridors. This can entail conserving open space, securing easements on private property, and trying to make it easier for critters to cross highways.

What’s good for a wandering wolverine would also be good for the myriad other species that once lived in the Centennial State and no longer do, even when they exist in pockets outside of Colorado. Just as officials in Colorado are looking to piece together large swaths of grasslands, other conservation groups, including the Patagonia, Inc.-supported “Freedom to Roam,” are looking to connect separated ecosystems (such as Yellowstone and the Canadian Rockies) with protected travel corridors.

A century ago, Colorado’s population was 799,024, according to the 1913 Encyclopedia Britannica. Today about 5.1 million people live here. “Intact ecosystem” doesn’t spring to mind when driving through the subdivisions that separate Boulder and Denver or Denver from Colorado Springs. Yet extensive efforts are underway to restore much of the land and the native species. The will is here, say the many partners. Perhaps the wild things will be too.

Rachel Walker’s logged lots of hours on public land for both work and play. A freelance writer based in Boulder, she’s reported on grizzly bears in Yellowstone, salmon in the Northwest and Super Bowl advertisements.

Vertical Relief: The Sangre’s 14ers beckon

Colorado’s San Luis Valley channels all vibes—14ers, natural hot springs, Tibetan stupas, a top-notch microbrewery, and the occasional UFO sighting.

The San Luis Valley is so big (122 miles long and 74 miles wide), high (7,500 feet) and flat (the roads here are laser-straight and seem to disappear into the curvature of the Earth) that driving through the place can be disorienting and gauging your highway speed basically impossible (sorry, Officer…). However, the area’s high peaks form a craggy boarder along the Sangre de Cristos to the East that help moor you—and attract you for adventure. To the West, the San Juans harbor the headwaters of the Rio Grande River, which swoops down into the valley before heading for Mexicos new and original. It’s a place of geologic wonders, like the 700-foot-tall dunes of Great Sand Dunes National Park, and cultural blunders, like the UFO Watchtower (ufonut.com/chuck5.htm) in Hooper. And here’s the best part—all this esoteric oddness is only about 260 miles from downtown Denver. Here, we give you some quick suggestions on how to start exploring the valley.

14er Bagging

Stupafied: Taking in a little mindfulness Crestone-style

Some mountaineers liken the climate here to that in Tibet, which might account for the magnificent stupa just south of Crestone, the former gold mining- town-turned spiritual center. Above town soar the conglomerate peaks of the Crestone Group, one of the singularly hardest and most technical concentrations of climbing on Colorado’s 54 14ers. The group includes Crestone Peak (14,294), Crestone Needle (14,197), Kit Carson Peak (14,165) and Challenger Point (14,081). (Humboldt Peak,14,064 feet, is 1.8 miles east of Crestone Peak and best reached from the Huerfano Park region to the East.) A bit further south, just beyond Great Sand Dunes National Park, lies the Blanca Group—Blanca Peak (14,345), Ellingwood Point (14,042) and Little Bear Peak (14,037). (Mt. Lindsey, 14,042 feet, is 2.5 miles east of Blanca and best reached from east of the valley, as well.) Culebra Peak (14,047 feet), a few miles south of the Blanca group, is on private land and requires permission to access.

Hot Water
Need to relax? The valley is filled with many natural and secret hot springs. For public soaking, the rock-lined hot springs at the clothing-optional Valley View Hot Springs (olt.org) are the valley’s best. Joyful Journeys Hot Springs Spa (joyfuljourneyhotsprings.com) in Moffat is nice, if a bit pricy, and the hot spring-fed Splashland and San Dunes (sanddunespool.com) swimming pools near Alamosa are ideal for kids. A bit farther north near Buena Vista, Cottonwood (cottonwood-hot-springs.com) and Mt. Princeton (mtprinceton.com) hot springs resorts are great options after climbing 14ers in the Collegiates.

Suds
The San Luis Valley always seems to contradict and surprise. It’s a major agricultural region—Alamosa’s ag-oriented Adams State College (Go Grizzlies!) is based here—but the San Louis Valley Brewing Company (slvbrewco.com) in Alamosa is the kind of industrial-chic microbrewery you’d find in San Francisco’s SoMa district.

Gators?
Pining for a taste of Florida in landlocked Colorado? The owners of Colorado Gators (gatorfarm.com) make use of pumped hot springs water to sustain dozens of Florida alligators that eat the refuse from the farm’s tilapia aquaculture.

For an entirely new spin on the “mountain bike Mecca,” bring your road bike.

Those tires look awfully thin.

It has become the most clichéd of clichés—Moab equals mountain biking. But the place has far more to offer (and we’re not talking about the brews at Eddie McStiffs, though they’re worth mentioning). No one seems to want to say it, but Moab’s big vistas and open pavement are ideal for … road biking.

It’s like that scenario with that girl you’ve been trying to date: she’s so gorgeous that you failed to notice that she’s also smart. Likewise, Moab’s dirt is so tantalizing that it’s easy to overlook the roads. Open your eyes, dude! She’s slipping through your fingers.

With that bit of advice in mind, we give you the three best road rides (and best spots to fuel up) in Moab.

The Rides
DEAD HORSE POINT // 46-mile out-and-back • utah.com/stateparks/dead_horse.htm

Remember when Thelma and Louise launched their T-Bird off the cliff? The scene was filmed at Dead Horse Point, a promontory of stone surrounded by steep sandstone cliffs. Utah’s most spectacular state park was once a natural corral used by cowboys driving the wild mustangs that roamed the nearby mesas. Legend says that a group of horses died of thirst there, unable to find their way off the point. Ironically, the Colorado River rages 2,000 feet below.

Start in the parking lot at the intersection of Hwy 191 and SR 313. From there, you’ll gain a gradual 1,700 feet on a well-maintained road with a generous bike lane and virtually no car traffic. At the top, stop and pay a small fee to continue on to the overlook. The infinite view of precipitous bluffs and towering spires is worth it. The visitor’s center is also located within the fee gate, a good place to refill the water and defill the bladder.

Putting miles on in Castle Valley.

ARCHES NATIONAL PARK // 47-mile out-and-back • nps.gov/arch

There’s nothing like riding your road bike against a backdrop that appears straight out of Mars. Arches National Park preserves over 2,000 natural sandstone arches, as well as many other unusual rock formations. The extraordinary features of the park create a landscape of contrasting colors, landforms and textures that is unlike any other in the world.

Ride 5 miles north from Moab or drive your car to the start—the Arches parking lot on Hwy 191. (You’ll pay an entrance fee either way.) Pick up a guide brochure at the fee gate. The scenic park highway is 18 miles long with a few off-shoot loops that will give you a total of 47 miles start-to-finish. Steep switchbacks at the beginning give way to rollers, but the ride is, for the most part, a climb. If you’re into the scenery, some arches are visible from the road, but they are best viewed from the short walking trails. Consider bringing your cleat covers and hoofing it to see the famous Delicate Arch.

LA SAL MOUNTAIN LOOP // 56-mile loop • go-utah.com/La-Sal-Mountains

This route rises from the sculptured canyons of the mighty Colorado River into the majestic 12,271-foot La Sal Mountains outside of Moab. Utah’s second highest mountain range contains six peaks over 12,000 feet. Covered in thick fir and aspen forests and dotted with mountain lakes, the La Sals make for a cool oasis in the heat of summer.

Start the ride in Moab at the adobe Rim Village condos on Spanish Valley Drive (not a bad place to stay with two-car garages and a hot tub). Head south, gradually climbing through Spanish Valley. Once you notice that the elevation is really gaining, you’ve hit “The Big Nasty,” a 3,000-foot climb in 7 miles. Despite the name, The Big Nasty isn’t all bad; this climb has three main parts offering the rider short breaks in between.

Once you’re up in the mountains, the ride becomes more of a scenic cruise. Then it’s a screaming descent to the canyon below. The route winds down with rollers along the Colorado River before concluding in town. Conveniently, you’ll ride passed Milt’s Stop & Eat, a Moabite fave. Stop for a milkshake; you’ll need it.

EATS

The undisputed place to meet for breakfast is the Jailhouse Café at 101 N Main Street. Think ginger pancakes with apple butter. Jailhouse Café only serves breakfast, so don’t miss your chance. Speaking of cafés, who can resist the Love Muffin Café? Located one block down from Jailhouse at 139 N. Main, expect concoctions like the CBC muffin—chocolate, butterscotch and coconut. We recommend this local organic café for lunch; the salads and sandwiches are unreal. For dinner, it would be crime to visit Moab and not eat at Eddie McStiff’s Microbrewery & Restaurant. Located at 57 S. Main Street, the entire plaza is named after this Moab institution. Hit McStiff’s post-ride or for dinner. You’ll find an eclectic mix of reasonably priced pub and hoity-toity fare served in an unpretentious atmosphere. Can’t decide which of McStiff’s microbrews to throw back? Consider starting with 75-cent samplers. Or take our word for it and go with the blueberry wheat.

For those in-between times, grab some groceries at Moonflower Natural Market, located one block off the main drag at 39 E 100 N Street. This nonprofit natural food store offers organic produce, healthy foods and supplements. For coffee or a place to chill, head to Arches Book Company at 78 N. Main. With an inviting atmosphere of plush chairs and new and used books, this independent bookstore makes you feel like a local. There’s also a laptop bar along the front window for a quickie with your Mac. A full-service Espresso bar featuring Fiery Furnace Roasting Company beans that are roasted on site keeps you caffeinated.

Click here to upload photos of your trip to Torreys Peak!

Of all the spring ski/snowboard mountaineering prizes on the Front Range, 14,267-foot Torreys Peak is the crown jewel. With four trailheads, two just off I-70, you can access the peak via various trails from various points. And come late April through early June, Torreys is covered with long, perfect ski and snowboard descents that set up with perfect corn snow if you catch them at the right time of day.

The Up
The standard approach routes to Torreys are accessed from the Grizzly Gulch and Stevens Gulch trailheads, just off I-70 at exit 221 (Bakerville). The road to both trailheads is too rough for most low-clearance vehicles and, depending on the snow year, you may need to walk a mile or so to the trailhead. There are a number of ways to access the peak. Purists frown on it, but you can take a long, slow, fairly easy approach to Torreys by traversing over from its not-as-imposing sister peak, Grays (14,270 feet). Or you can take the tough route-slogging up the north side of the peak and powering through more than 3,500 vertical feet straight to the top. Yes, it’s a rugged lactic-acid-inducing trek, but pure and smart because it provides the chance to assess the route you will ski down. A third option is to park on Loveland Pass and traverse along Torreys’ west ridge to the summit, but, like the Grays route, this doesn’t give you a look at what you will be coming down and you’ll need to leave a shuttle vehicle at the trailhead.

The Down
Once you’re in your bindings at the top of Torreys, several enticing options beckon. Just east of the summit is Dead Dog Couloir, which is as steep as 50 degrees at the top and drops like an elevator shaft 1,000 feet down to Stevens Gulch. But enter it with care: Climbers may be heading up it and the eastern exposure means you have to hit it very early, before the snow softens up. The Northwest Face is the big, open crowd favorite, offering 2,000 verts back down to Grizzly Gulch at a pitch that holds good snow. With stunning views of the Front Range and a steady pitch, it’s one of the best ski descents around and arguably the best introduction to skiing Colorado 14ers. It’s also a safe bet if snow conditions look questionable. But, when it comes down to it, we at Elevation Outdoors think the north face is the premier ski on the peak. The perfect line is Emperor-a 3,000-foot-vetical steep, straight shot from the summit down to Grizzly Gulch. It must be skied in good conditions, but besides a tight squeeze between cliff bands about 500 feet down, it’s fairly open, making it a thrilling, leg-burning descent. If the conditions don’t look great, there is an alternative, obvious side couloir down the ridge from the summit that is slightly easier and joins Emperor about 1,000 feet down.

The Book
Pick up Gerry Roach’s guidebook Colorado’s Fourteeners (Fulcrum, 1999).

Banish those thoughts of cross-country skiing as simply a pastime for Swedes hopped up on akvavit or geeks in pom-pom hats. Just shy of the Continental Divide and 10 minutes from Winter Park, the self-proclaimed “rustic upscale” resort of Devil’s Thumb Ranch marries luxury (think heated floors and fine wines) with rugged mountain air and lots and lots of snow. If the views don’t take your breath away, a morning skiing the cross-country trails at elevation might. The resort’s commitment to the environment is also impressive, including land conservation efforts, use of geothermal heat in its buildings and a focus on organic and sustainable foods at its restaurants.

Play

It’s hard to exhaust the terrain, though the terrain may exhaust you. One hundred kilometers of groomed cross-country trails beg for long days on long Nordic skis (or fast-moving skate skis). If you’re drawn to the poetry of the winter landscape—the shimmer of snow-crusted pine needles, deciphering animal tracks—strap on snowshoes for a tromp through the woods. No gear? No experience? No problem. Zach’s Mercantile and Rental Shop will set you up with perfectly waxed skis and a strapping young instructor. When you’re ready to call it quits, soak in the views at the heated indoor/outdoor pool and hot tub or book a treatment or two at the Ranch Creek Spa.

Eat

It’s no secret that Devil’s Thumb has some of the best dining in the area. Fuel up in the morning with a croissant and a mug of strong brew at Hallowed Grounds Coffee House then stop in at the new Heck’s Tavern for lunch. Evenings, you’ll find the Ranch House Restaurant packed with fellow skiers and people who drive up to the ranch just for dinner, so make reservations in advance. The restaurant emphasizes sustainable New Mountain American Cuisine (e.g. buffalo steak, grilled seasonal vegetables, crème brûlée) and has an impressive list of more than 400 wines.

Sleep

Once you’ve skied, soaked and dined, are you really going to want to brave the SUV traffic back down I-70? Kick back at Devil’s Thumb’s new 52-room main lodge or splurge on one of their 16 luxury cabins (rates start at $215/night for the lodge, $315/night for the cabins). Built partially with wood salvaged from the area, the secluded cabins are decorated with antiques in themes such as fly fishing, Native American culture and Nordic skiing. And the beds are really comfortable.

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For reservations and more information, go to devilsthumbranch.com.