Earlier this summer the large brains at Bike Mag had become swollen with all of the interwebs and Instatweets blocking their sine waves from producing line raves.  So they unplugged and came for a session.  Riding what they called "the best damned singletrack I have ever seen" this merry bunch of editors, photographers, and industry wonks made themselves right at home here in the glory of a Sun Valley July and teed off.  They drank all of the beer, roosered all of the corners, and rabble-roused while they caroused leaving nary a stone unturned.  Here is the tale, at least the parts which could be shared with anyone who wasn't there.