Biking the entire Palisade Plunge is harder than you think, and the local bike shops don’t want you to ride it blind

As soon as we got out of the shuttle van at the Shirttail trailhead, the Palisade Plunge gave us a stark lesson. As if on cue, a rider returned to the van before we’d even started, clutching his shoulder and requesting a ride back to town. He’d crashed trying to navigate the embedded rocks that characterize so much of this Western Colorado trail and dislocated his shoulder less than 200 yards into the ride. We’d not even had time to tie our shoelaces.

Three or four hours later, we came across a couple of riders who’d passed us earlier as we stopped to eat lunch at a stunning overlook — both out of breath but determined to continue, despite gentle warnings from our host, Scott. By the time we caught up with them later, one of the pair was in a bad way — bonking hard and struggling to stay upright. He wasn’t an experienced rider — he’d rented a bike that day to join a bunch of friends, wearing gym shorts and running shoes, without nearly enough food or water — yet opted to do the full 34-mile trail.

We poured water into him and got him into the shade, but he was nauseous and struggling to focus. Thankfully, we were only a mile or so from the end of the trail, and Rondo from the Palisade Shuttle company came back up the trail to find him and help him out. Even so, it’s a sobering example of what’s been happening here, and what the locals are trying so hard to avoid.

Unprepared

In July 2022, a 52-year-old rider lost his life on this trail. He didn’t crash or fall thousands of feet from the many exposed sections — he simply ran out of water and died from heat exhaustion. He was found by a group of three other riders, who’d all started with a gallon of water each, and had also run out. The dead man was local, experienced, used to long rides, and just four miles from the end of the trail.

I didn’t know any of this before I set out to try the trail for myself — all I knew was that I’d never had so many warning emails before a ride. Message after message landed in my inbox about distance, about heat, about water provision, and they all strongly advised that, as a first-timer, I shouldn’t try to ride the whole thing.

Start like a lamb, finish like a lion

So we did just half. After jumping out of the van at the Shirttail trailhead, we took the first four of the 21 miles of descent back to town on a dirt road, avoiding the rocks that claimed our fellow shuttler so quickly, and didn’t get onto the trail itself for at least 20 minutes. 

The beginning was beautiful. We began on a mild, flowing singletrack through the yellowing aspens that offered tantalizing glimpses of the canyon beyond. There were plenty of short climbs to take the pace off and even the odd rock garden here and there to keep our concentration up. 

As we made our way out of the trees and further down the 6,000-foot descent, things began to get a bit more serious. This section of the Plunge is still mostly flowing singletrack, but the difficulty of the features and exposure levels definitely go up — our guide, Jason, took a header over the bars on a sandy rock roll, and things become more binary in terms of line choice.

And the precautionary emails weren’t joking — it really does get harder the farther down you go. I’ve ridden Hangover in Sedona and Portal in Moab, and the exposure on the last ten or so miles of the Palisade Plunge is no joke — a narrow, gravelly singletrack with absolutely nothing between you and and a life-ending drop of thousands of feet on your lefthand side. Technically? An easy trail. In reality? You’d better concentrate. Every second.

There’s a wealth of other treats, too. Smooth gardens of slickrock with multiple line choices. Jagged, sandy switchbacks. Near-vertical rock rolls with big, stomach-lurching G-outs. 

And the lower down the trail you go, the more challenging it gets. Which is why Scott Winans, co-owner of Palisade Cycle and Shuttle, is working as hard as he can to get that message out.

Don’t ride it blind

“The difference in temperature is real,” said Winans. “It’s not unheard of for the trail to be 30 degrees hotter at the bottom than it is at the top. And because the trail starts in the cool of the trees, it’s easy to forget you’re in a desert environment — but running out of water is a real concern.”

Winans is a rider’s rider. He’s been part of the scene here in Western Colorado for over 30 years, helping put Fruita and Grand Junction on the map, and he’s an excellent guide and host on our ride. But he cares deeply about the lives of every rider out here — which is why he’s shouting as loudly as he can about what anyone riding this trail needs to know.

“It’s a trail on public land, and the full official length is 32 miles,” said Winans. “The first eleven miles of that only descends 600ft or so, and it’s not technically challenging at all — you’re just cruising through the forests. But as you descend, the trail changes radically. It gets much more challenging, there’s a lot of climbing, and the last two miles or so have all the most technical features.”

It’s this seemingly mild start that’s the main problem. The simplicity of the smooth forest beginning leads a lot of people to think they’re on a long, flowy descent, one that’s more about the views than the riding, and doesn’t prepare less capable riders for what’s coming. By the time the more technical sections start, a lot of people are near the limit of what they usually ride and have already depleted their water and food supplies too much. 

Winans can’t make his case strongly enough: “A lot of people don’t think that they’re in a desert environment in those high woods, but they are — water is a huge factor. 85 percent of the total trail distance is at a high intermediate skill level, and then you have very brief segments of black diamond or even double black diamond.”

That’s why he, his partner Rondo, and a lot of other locals in the riding and outdoor communities are recommending that every new rider on the Palisade Plunge starts at the Shirttail trailhead for a 21-mile descent, or even rides the first four miles from there on dirt road before getting onto the trail proper, as we did.

“Start with Shirttail down. Please. Because you get the most bang for the buck that way.  It’s more technically challenging, and it is a different ride style than that first 11 miles — do that on day one, and if you’re really in love, by all means, do the whole thing another day.”

Caring, not scaring

Winans and Rondo love this trail. They’ve been working with the BLM, the Forest Service, and the local town for years to build it, reroute it after weather damage or to avoid rare birds’ nests, and Winan’s passion for it is tangible. Even though he must have guided thousands of people over the years, his enthusiasm doesn’t wane for one second on our ride — he’s full of facts and anecdotes every time we stop, taking dozens of photos of us as we ride and clearly enjoying every second. So the stark messaging that he and his crew are putting out isn’t about stopping people from riding here — it’s driven by his determination to give everyone the best possible experience.

“After that poor guy died, a few voices came out of the community saying that this trail should be closed,” said Winans. “The most difficult section is on BLM land, and their response was along these lines — we don’t close rivers when people die in a river or remove access to backcountry skiing if somebody dies in an avalanche. That isn’t how public lands are managed.

“We’re just trying to get people up there so they get down safely and have fun. Both of us share this desire, this real commitment to having people not end up in situations where they’re out of control.”

Take a breath

Let’s be real — this isn’t an epic ride on the scale of the Whole Enchilada or Monarch Crest. It’s got far fewer technical challenges overall and less sustained climbing. It’s not as fast on the downhill or as packed with rock rolls and blind bends. 

Even still, our ride is a fantastic 17 miles of backcountry thrills. The exposed curve of singletrack around the inside of the canyon feels like a scene in Mission Impossible. The switchbacks have to be navigated one inch at a time, with barely enough room for the rear wheel to squeak by. One second you’re plugging through a mountain stream, the next you’re rolling over the skatepark lumps of a slickrock section. And it’s far from a pure descent — there are constant short climbs, techy ledges, and patches of slippery sand. 

So let’s all take Winans and Rondo at their word. Let’s not drag them out onto the dark trail in search of our fading lights because we didn’t take enough water or food. Let’s not endanger mountain rescue crews by scoffing at their advice. Let’s not force local authorities to restrict access or remove funds for development by turning ourselves into scare stories. 

Let’s respect the Palisade Plunge and reap the many rewards it has to offer. 

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