After climbing two big passes and multiple grueling “kickers” and pretty much running on fumes, we found ourselves standing at 9100′ looking straight down into the valley where our campsite was located on the Colorado River. We watched a freight train roll through below, with the aspect of a child’s toy. And then we began to descend a series of switchbacks that no photo or video could adequately capture. We lost 1000′ in the first mile and another 1000′ in the several that followed. It was a both fists full of brakes, ease up in the slightest and the bike explodes from under you like a wild horse, outer edge drops off a cliff, inner edge a quickly transitioning montage of gorgeous canyon vegetation, red then yellow gravel road, everything bathed in golden hour light, 20% grade, arms shoulders calves screaming whirlwind of a descent. When we bottomed out, I was nearly teary at the lifetime singularly of the all-too-brief experience. This may sound like hyperbole. It is not.