Mountain biking in Breckenridge: How does it compare to Austin?

We have a world-class mountain biking scene here in Central Texas.

The stair-stepped ledges of Emma Long Metropolitan Park, the rock- and root-studded single track through the Barton Creek greenbelt, and the up-and-down, whoop-de-do terrain of Walnut Creek Metropolitan Park chum up cyclists riding knobby-tired steeds like wriggly worms draw in bass.

So how does mountain biking in Austin, where the elevation is 621 feet at Camp Mabry, compare to mountain biking in the real mountains — the Rocky Mountains of Colorado?

I headed to Breckenridge, Colo., to find out.

The first thing I notice (besides the amazing alpine scenery) is that just hauling my suitcase up the stairs of One Ski Hill Place, where I've rented a room, leaves me breathing heavily. Transitioning to mountain air when you're used to breathing near sea level is like switching from whole milk to skim.

That difference becomes even more pronounced when you climb on a mountain bike, which I rent the next morning from Mountain Wave, a local bike shop, before pedaling a few blocks to meet Scott Reid, open space and trails planner.

What sets the mountain biking scene in the 151-year-old former mining town apart, he says, is the sheer size of its trail system.

"We have so much here as far as single track and dirt roads — it goes on forever," Reid tells me.

Right from downtown, cyclists can access hundreds of miles of single track and dirt roads. In addition, more than 50 miles of paved recreational pathways link Breckenridge to nearby Frisco, Keystone, Silverthorne, Vail, Copper Mountain and Dillon.

Breckenridge sits at an altitude of nearly 10,000 feet, and much of Breck's off-road system involves climbing that'll leave a flatlander from Texas panting like a hot puppy. It's also challenging if you haven't spent much time in the saddle, cruising through rock gardens and scrub.

City planners like Reid know that, and they're actively doing something about it.

"We have the technical, high-altitude stuff covered," Reid says. "It's fun to have that, but our focus is on creating beginning level mountain biking trails so folks can get their feet wet versus thinking, ‘That was miserable, I couldn't breathe and I had to hike my bike the whole way.'"

Reid flips open a map, available at area bike shops, that outlines local cycling trails. Like ski trails, they're marked as green for beginners, blue for intermediates, and black for experts.

He runs his finger along an area of intermediate trails southeast of town, and invites me to follow. In 5 minutes, we're pedaling up an easy single track trail along French Creek.

Thanks to the altitude, I do my best impersonation of a suffocating guppy as we grind 500 feet up Prospect Gulch, pausing now and then so I can pant in peace. Finally at the top, we admire the scenery, which includes an overview of a river far below where miners once dredged for gold.

Then the real fun begins.

We zoom down an intermediate trail called Minnie Mine, zooming under pine trees and aspen and past chattering chipmunks. We cross a couple of wooden planked bridges, stop to check out an old mining dredge boat that was abandoned here decades ago, admire a blaze of wildflowers, then zip off down a trail built last year called Turk's.

Instantly, I am in cycling heaven.

The shocks of my dual suspension bike bounce gently as I careen up banked berms, roll over rocks the size of soccer balls and screech to a halt in front of a downed tree blocking my path. Reid whips out a folding saw and clears some of the branches. We hoist our bikes over the log, then carry on for another hour before heading back to town for a lunchtime break.

Breckenridge's amazing network of trails didn't happen by accident, Reid explains. Town residents passed a referendum in 1996 that dedicated a half-cent sales tax to an open space program. Among other things, the program secures public land and easements on historical roads for its ever-expanding trail system.

Some of the trails trace pre-existing cart paths and flume lines used by miners searching for gold. Others are built specifically for bikes. A four-person paid crew and hundreds of volunteers have pitched in to create 3 miles of new singletrack so far this year.