Don't call it a comeback

For those of you who know me and for those that don't, I am a huge fan of the Cyclocross. Love that stuff. It is so much fun to watch. It is fast, and the PRO Elite fields only race for 60min. Full gas. Mud. Sand. Grass. Ice and snow and rain, wind, whatever, you name it they race in it. How can you not love 'cross? This brings me to the point where I actually race 'cross, or I at least enter, pay my money and line up for a race. If you see how fast I go, I would not call it racing. More like surviving. Racing 'cross is like a dare you make with your own body. "I dare you to go as hard as you can without puking." "oh yeah, try me." Why would anyone want to do this? 'Cause it's FUN. Right? Sure.

NO, it hurts like heck. But. We do it anyway.

I have not raced all season, so I decided to race a three day race this last weekend. I am a shell of a human, after. Not being in race-shape and then racing three days in a row is incredibly intelligent. "Race yourself into shape" -add that to the long list of Cyclist Lies. This is the most painful way to gain fitness, maybe. Three days down in the books and I'm shelled, beat, cracked, broken. So, I should enter a 50 mile MTB race. Great idea.

So there is that. I'm headed to Texas to hang out with the family and destroy my body one pedalstroke at a time. To paraphrase Tyler Durden, "we are dying one second at a time" it's how you spend those seconds that matter. I should spend close to 18,000 seconds of my life dying, riding in what I consider one of the most beautiful places (Palo Duro Canyon). What are you going to do for five hours on Saturday? Maybe, just maybe I'll let you know how this goes...

Ice cream recovery

Totally foiled today by mother nature. Rode the MTB up to Turkey for a little single track goodness that turned foul very quickly. Somehow I forgot about the carnage that occurred just a night ago. Four hundred thousand mph winds knocked about and left several trees and debris all over the place. {Hey, what happened to the term "gust-nado"? Is it dead? I thought it was the stupidest meteorological term ever. Glad I have not heard it uttered.} This was pretty evident when I turned

0nto the Red trail and and everything sounded "crunchy". Branches and tree litter everywhere, and it's a shame because the trails are in perfect condition in spite of being laid to waste.

So it wasn't too bad climbing up to the top, the soil perfectly tacky and firm. No slipping, no sliding. Hooked up. I pointed the rig towards Bunny and let it out, after a few super nice turns I had a handful of brakes. Stopped for a tree crossing. Well, they don't really cross, they just stay there in your way. No matter how long you wait. I didn't wait long and shouldered the bike and traversed the tree with the elegance of a drunken monkey. Few more turns down and a few more trees in the same condition. So much for getting my flow on. Ride, get off, climb tree, ride, stop, turn around, ride, stop, pull out branches from rear derailleur. There's your flow.

That last branch must of bent something up pretty good, cause my drivetrain sounds like a broken hamster wheel in a grade school classroom. Minus the smell. Another lap of turns and tree hopping and it's back to the shop to put things back where they belong either all nice like or with a hammer. I can't complain, well I am just a little. Not bad for a day off, it could always be worse. At least the bread landed "butter side up", right? I got outside on the mtb and rode, it wasn't the postcard home kinda ride, but it was a ride.

I'm on the couch convalescing with some Dinosaur Jr in the background, legs up, and a pint of Ben & Jerry's Phish food. Oh, I hate it when people say "life is good" "life is good" blah blah blah, but Life is Good. And it's almost beer thirty, or is it... Pssshhhhhsssss! Yep. Ahhhhhh!

What? Me? .....NO!

This has all been said before, so you can stop reading right now.  No, really you can stop... because I have said it once, twice, three times a lady.  This thing, this tool, this toy that has many names.  The bi-wheeled contraption.  What ever it is to you, it is a very important part of my life.  I rediscovered the bicycle 14 years ago this month.  The snow was melting on the Wasatch and I heard of a Texan that was racing bikes in a place called Tour de, or something like that.  I swore off spandex and decided that the fat tires were just the thing for me.  I loved to snowboard on the mountains, might as well put some rubber down on them.

Fast forward a few years and the bike moved with me to the no-mountains of Oklahoma. I was a big time mountain biker from Utah, what could I possibly learn in OK?  Everything.  I sacrificed blood and flesh to the "mountain" that we call Turkey.  Humble pie is not a tasty thing.  I was schooled every time knobby touched rock and root.  Don't get me wrong, I am not what I would consider a "good" rider, but I do have fun and I acquired the skills to do what makes me happy.  In my book that is all that maters, anything else and you are way to serious.  Have fun.

The problem with addiction is that you reach a point and you have to have more, and once you get more, you need more.  And the cycle continues.  [no pun]  [ok, maybe just a little]  I was bummed on the days that it was too wet to ride Turkey and I did not want to ride my mtb on the road.  So.  Naturally I bought a road bike.  Still swore off spandex. Then a funny thing happened. Tulsa Tough.  I was already a cycling fan, thanks to Lance, but now I had the chance to see it up close.  Close enough to feel the wind of the draft blow by like a gust front.  The sound of freewheels on a downhill, the shifting of gears transmitting through a carbon wheel, the zip of hundreds of chains being turned in anger...

I was hooked, even more so than before.  Addiction turns into obsession turns into a lifestyle.  Admittance is the first step?  I'm a sick junkie.  Get the Thorazine, find a nice "hug yourself jacket", padded cell for one -please.  I look at porn on the internet, yes I will admit it.  I go to sites like Colnago.com Cicli Pinarello Dedacciai Ridley etc etc etc.  What can I say, I have a problem, and I like Italian sexiness and Belgian prowess.  It does pain me so that I do not own a Campy groupo.  Oh, to have Italian sexiness firmly in my grasp, with a freehub that speaks "bedroom".  Someday.

This is only a few steps above shooting heroin or snorting lines.  Eat, sleep, dream.  Bikes.  I don't have room in my life for anyone who does not think the same way.  I surround myself with junkies, I try and convert "regular" people into cycling.  If you are crazy and you can get more people to think and act the way you do, the less crazy you look.  It's a cult, want to join? Would you like some cool-aid?

Closing time

At the end of the North 40 I stopped at the trail head and waited for The Wife to appear.  "Wanna go again?" I asked in my best begging, but still sounding cool voice.  I got the look of, well I got The Look.  We were done.  It was a short little double with a slight down hill all the way to the car.  Coasting.  What a way to top off a trip.  One where I thought I would not get to ride my bike, turned out that I got in some pretty impressive riding.  Got lucky, no all day in the saddle rides, but quality.  Not quantity.  This was the kind of trip that gets the juices flowing, but dose not drain the life out of you.

Of course standing in the parking lot of the Moab Brands trail head, we were over 1,000miles from home.  Talk about a buzz kill.  Back to the hotel, shower, pack, leave.  Six hours in the car to Albuquerque.  By my best guesstimate we will be in the hotel by 6-7pm.  Fueled up and we were out.  Miles and miles of road trip.  The Wife is reading, and I am trying not to plow head first into the side of the road or into oncoming traffic.

I don't know what it is about New Mexico drivers and why they have a problem with me, but I always find some kook that wants to race me when I try and pass them.  With the cruse control on.  At least it keeps me entertained, and the anger like a little fire keeping me warm with colorful insults running through my head. 

We found the hotel this time.  First try.  No google issues trying to get us killed.  Plus, it was the one we stayed in just a few days previous.  Do I trust google maps to find me a pint and food?  I like to live dangerously, so I gave it a whirl.  Marble Brewery.  3.5miles away.  Ended up in a dark industrial part outside of the bright lights of down town ABQ.  Thanks google.  Wait, there it is.  There are people outside under heat lamps.  We are here.  Yes I had their IPA, took a hard look at the double IPA and decided I want to drive home, not to the crash site.

I have to say that Marble's IPA was the best of the trip.  I don't know if it is an actual winner or that it just came at the apex of the trip and the culminating experience just made it all the better.  Which ever it might be it was one tasty IPA.  If you find yourself in the greater ABQ area and are parched from the high desert air, I highly recommend Marble Brewery.  They have a limited menu (food), but more than make up for it with the liquid brewed confections.  We shared some nachos.

We hooked up with my sister for a short night cap, and then to the hotel, another long day tomorrow.  New Years Eve.  10hrs in a car, driving wishing that you were still riding single track in Utah.  This was not to be.  We stopped briefly to eat lunch with my parents in Amarillo, and then kept rolling.  We made it back to Tulsa in time to clean up and head over to a party.  Normally I would be all-a-rage to party it up, but the drive must have taken the wind out of my sails.

Branded

I am going to get very controversial, but I feel this needs to be said.  I do have loads of hesitation, but I would not be genuine if I did not tell it like it is.  This is my opinion and I have an opinion just like everyone has an opinion like they have _____.  Keep an open mind when proceeding, and allow me to explain myself.  Please commit your opinion, if you are bold enough to do so.

I am not a fan of Slick Rock.  Sorry if I just pissed on your Alamo, but I love flowy-buttery-bermed single track.  Slick Rock is the antithesis of my style of riding.  Before you get all ranty and ravey, and call your congressperson.  Hear me out.  The actual geography of SR is super cool, there is nothing else like it anywhere.  I give it high marks for being original.  The original.  We did not ride a whole lot of SR because of the sheer other-worldly-ness of the place.  To say that we were weirded out by the place is an understatement.  I have to be honest and say that the exposure really jacked with my senses.  I was scared, and rode scared.  I felt like I was going to fall off, down, go over the bars, every little rise I crested.

It has been several weeks, and I still cannot come up with a better excuse than just plain old FEAR.  I cannot bag on the place, because it is rad.  I just don't have the round circular objects that bounce to ride a place like that.  If I had a week to get used to it I might be able to rock it, but I don't feel that I would enjoy it as much as a loamy tree covered rail-able trail.  The one face saving grace (my face) is that I totally dug being able to just go off "trail" and carve up what ever you could without falling to your death.  It is a rolling sandstone paved skate park, with banks, drops, whoops, and plenty of places to get some surf inspired turns.  This is the part that I love about SR, the ability to choose your own line.  I will go back.  I have unfinished business.  Side note: The Wife hated it.

We made our way to the nearest Mexican food joint and filled the tank.  Bummer no imports, just domestic beers, which means Mexican Beers (which I love, but I want local), I'll have a water.  The Boss had a fish-bowl margarita, it was tasty.  We did a little souvenir shopping and then stopped in at Poison Spider Bikes.  This is one of the premier shops in the country.  $$$$$$$.  Super cool and totally small shop feel.  Guys were actually cool and not a-hole shop types.  I chatted with him for a while and then dropped the "where do you ride?" question.  Told him what I was looking for and like a good dealer who uses, he pointed us in the direction of the Moab Brands trails.  Sounds good.

We went back to Moab Brewing after Smiths to get The Julie some root beer.  Travis said that I had to have a Derailleur Amber, I had two.  I tip my cap to Travis' discerning taste in the brewed beverage department.  Good show mate.  Back to the hotel, clean up, pack up, early wake up, tomorrow is going to be a long day.

At the Moab Brands trail head I checked the map one more time to get my mental picture, and we were off.  It was freaking cold, the sun was still fighting for elevation to make it over the La Sals in the East.  Hands and feet were starting to protest, but the blood was pumping trying to do its job.  First up, the EZ trail.  Flowy single track with some rocks and a little elevation change, but no climbing.  Heaven.  We hooked with the Bar-M to get to the Rocking A, this was just a double with some elevation change.  We arrived at the Rocking A, which was Navajo Slick Rock.  Cool.  Not so Cool Navajo SR is just like the sandstone, except it is rough with pock marks that make it ride rough.  Not a fan.

1.5miles of rough SR and we were done.  Circle O was out of the question, it was more of the same.  Scratch that.  Back to the Bar-M, and we headed back to the end of the EZ and we hit up the Lazy.  The Lazy is the sister trail of the EZ.  Super fun twisty single track with some elevation gain, but no climbing.  Up and down and up and down again.  We rounded a corner and the trail dropped down into a shallow slope that was twisty and BERMED.  I railed!  I was off-the-hook-out-of-control.  This produced a permigrin.  I might have let out a "Wheeeeeee" once or five times.

At the end of the Lazy we were back to the start, and the North 40 trail head was begging for me to come explore.  I asked The Boss?  She said OK.  We headed out and it started off a little tech, but it has promise, I kept asking if we should continue?  Yes.  YES!  Next little up put us into an awesome contour carve into some twisty down hills.  Sweet.  I'm sure my legs were a little tired, but I felt nothing but the pull of the trail begging for me to keep turning over the pedals.  I no longer felt the bike, I had melted into the man-machine.  A oneness that happens, and is unexplainable unless you have been there for yourself.  Stoke.  I was starting to become this trail, a trail that I had never ridden.  I couldn't stop, couldn't slow, just had to go.  This was Christmas morning and I just opened a present that I didn't ask for, but it was one that I have always wanted.

M to the OAB

This is like when you get all into a series on TV and they get to the end of the season, you have to wait until it comes back on and they have new shows.  Yeah, kinda like that, except not as entertaining.  I really think the two or three of you that actually read this are just waiting for a break down or for me to go verbally insane and just write horrible things about people you know.  I'm not to that point....Yet.  But if it got more people to read......

So when we left our wayward travelers they were about to embark on a single track daytime assault mission at Dead Horse Point, UT.  It was cold, the air was crisp with the morning sun warming the red rocks.  The view, spectacular.  The man and his wife donned the frocks of mountain biking.  Words were spoken, helmets fastened, chains were aligned into the proper gear ratio.  A small wheelie of joy was held for the slightest of time dropping from pavement to high desert dirt. 

Time to rail some sick turns.

DHP is a trail system with two conjoined loops with an inner short/easy loop and a longer/easy loop.  Distance worked out to be a mile or so less than what was posted.  It was a very well thought out trail, and it did have a few intermediate sections, but all in all it was super fun.  All single track with flowing turns a few ups and down, but no climbs.  Fast, fast, and more fast.  There was quite a bit of snow on the trail in the shaded zones, but no mud to speak of.  The snow on the tires mixed with the powdery clay dirt an made some crazy sugar cookie tires that shed like fragmentation grenades.  This was a little annoying at times and fun at other times.  Perspective.  Remember this is the first time I had been on a bike in a few hundred hours, so I had it pinned.  The wife was not too amused with my childlike enthusiasm for speed, to her credit she was riding a broken bike.  Front fork seized, and rear brake was spongy as Mr. Squarepants.  She soldiered on like a trooper not wanting to rent a $45 bike.

At the end I was ready for another lap, but there was a pint and a burger waiting at Moab Brewery.  My wife asked for a sample of their Stout, and the waiter with limited English comprehension skills brought a pint.  She did not like this one.  I had an IPA, was elbow deep into my burger and then tried to finish off her Stout.  Yes, and we were still going to go to Slick Rock to check out the world famous trail.  I am ashamed to report that I could not finish the job and left beer on the table.  It was a sad sad day, I felt shame walking out with a half empty beer on the table.  -Optimist.

Hold on folks this is the part of the show they call the cliff-hanger.  They build up the action right at the 0:55:00 mark and then put up the to be continued...  We headed from Moab Brewery to Slick Rock and geared up for some more MTB action.  The parking lot was full of intimidation, it was the view, the feel, everything about rolling out of the lot onto the trail felt ominous.  We headed to the Practice Loop, and the first up section was a gear grinding 4mph short climb right into a roll-over screaming downhill turn into some snow and ice.  It gets better???

She was the one

Unemployment has its benefits.  I get to do chores, I have a Master To Do list and then a Daily To Do list.  I've been pretty good so far knocking out this list one-by-one, and still managing to have plenty of "me"-time.  PRO-tip: Keep the TV off.  I have been using Evernote to sync my lists from my tablet to my phone.  This is awesome for a detailed grocery list.  I know that I am using this application in the most simple form, but it works for me.  I have to clean out the garage and the attic so that we can donate to AMVETS and reduce some of life's clutter while helping a good cause.

My first mtb frame is up in the attic, I am saving it to make an art project out of it that will eventually hang on a wall.  It is the bike that kicked off this insatiable appetite for two wheeled locomotion. There are two other mtbs up there along with a circa 1990's crt TV a set of old wheels lots of used tires.  Really?  What am I going to do with used tires?  My hockey bag and sticks.  Man haven't used that in well, forever.  At one time I played and coached hockey.  I doubt that I could even hockey-stop.  One of the hardest things I have ever learned in my life.  It looks so simple, take a metal edge and slide it sideways on ice to a stop.  Simple.

I have life reminders all around, things this body used to do and do fairly well.  I have a skateboard that is collecting dust, a reminder of several chapters in my life spanning more than half.  The time I spent riding skateboards was full of pain, suffering, and the pure joy of freedom.  I have scars from 20yrs ago, but to have the feeling of dropping into a ramp and carving a nice back-side five-0 didn't come easy.  It's in there somewhere, that feeling just like the hockey-stop.  It's there but gone.

The one love that I have tried to replace with bikes is the hardest loss.  Railing a bermed stretch of perfect single-track comes close to the feeling of carving fresh pow in the Utah backcountry, but it does not compare.  It's been ten plus years.  I've been on a board since, but it was only frustrating not to be at the level once considered normal.  It is a love lost, the one that got away.  You try to stay in touch, but it is too painful, the memories.  The truth, that you will never have what you once shared.  The only proper thing to do is self-medicate and find a replacement.  I cannot begin to explain the stoke one gets from being out in nature on the edge of "this could go seriously wrong" and having it go "so right".  Cheating death or the feeling of cheating death is a pure drug, and it is readily available.

I keep increasing my numeric value that people call age, and with this my ability to do the things that I love decreases.  I have my substitute, not the one from Mrs. Parker's class in fourth grade, but rather the bike.  It is not the equal to snowboarding that I would like it to be, but it works.  It is the drink to calm the nerves, it is the shot of adrenalin at flat-line. Fall and Winter is a tough time for me, it is a time when I have a feeling that I am not in the right place doing the right thing.  I love bikes, but I will always have a first love, that high school crush that got away. 

Adjust this...

Man this day started off like any other day, just like Bill Murray hitting the alarm clock in Groundhog's Day.  Routine is as routine does.  Potty and feed the dogs, make coffee, eat cereal, stretch, make/pack lunch, dress (put clothes on, not wear) head out the door, check -work phone personal phone keys, drive to work.  Etc...  Today was a day that was supposed to be easy and fast, and with my leftover time I would work on Thursday's and Friday's route, you know just to have it done.  BS...I want to leave early on Thursday and Friday.  It was going so well right out of the gate that I thought it was Thursday and I was happy down in my soul and then I realized it was still only Wednesday, but happy it was Wednesday 'cause Wednesday kills compared to Monday. 

'It hit the fan at stop number three today.  Then on the way to my next stop, we will call it stop number four, my work truck died.  Tits up at 65mph on the Creek Turnpike in the left hand lane.  Oops.  Put it in N and tried to restart, nothing.  Checked traffic and signaled to pull off the road, again tried to restart.  Nothing.  Dead.  If it were a horse I would have pulled out my gun and put it out of its misery.  Routine just became a missing person on the 10 o'clock news.

Long story short, Good day became crappy day became #&^%$@^%#$!!!!!!!  I became a clock watcher and began to calculate at what point I would have to quit running route drive back to the shop get my car drive home and still have some daylight left for a ride.  Priorities!  I made it, got into my car and was about six or seven mins into my drive home when to paraphrase Chicken Little the bottom dropped out.  Seriously?  So now it is raining, and my mtb ride is just a work day dream that was being washed into the gutter.  Turn the soul crusher to 11, break out the whine and cheese, I think I'm gonna cry.

Got home.  Was about to put on some Joy Division lay on the couch in the dark and create a black hole of depression the likes of which have not been seen or recorded by man or machine.  I looked at my phone for some reason and saw that it was 65* and raining.  No ____ Sherlock.  Wait a min, 65* is warm.  So if you add rain, 65* is now cool, not cold, but cool.  My work induced rage coma is starting to wear off and I realize that I can ride my bike in the rain, and 65* is well within my manufacturer's tolerances.  Oh, what's that?  I have a CX bike?  A bike that is just begging to be ridden in the harshest of conditions that I am probably not man enough to dish out. 

Quick look at the clock said that I had better hurry if I wanted to be back before the dark had a dual-fisted hold on the earth.  Leg over the saddle, clipped in, drilling it down the block.  Oh crap, might want to let off the gas on this corner with all this liquid on the ground, yeah whetevez... I laugh at the rain, the wet grass, the mud, the leaves on the ground, and all the jealous fools in their metal coffins trying to kill me in a fit of vehicular homicide.  Slow it down there Git-r-done dude.

Hate, Rage, Fury, Anger, Madness flowed in my veins.  With every pedal-stroke they were broken down into the most enjoyable smooth flowing calm.  A calm that can only be gained from the distillation of the negative chased out of the body with the magical powers of the bi-wheeled contraption that we like to call a bike.

That time of the...

It's fall and the weather is so nice... I wish it would stay like this for about six months.  The leaves are turning and starting to layer the silky single track.  I'm a big fan of this time of year, is it the weather, is it the feeling that the winter snows are just around the corner, or is it the dreaded off-season?  That's right, the off-season.  Is it dreaded or is it welcomed?  Burn out, injury, or just plain old tired is looking for a cure and the off-season is exactly what the bartender poured.  Taking some time off in the off-season can re-energize the cycling soul.  Soul that is stretched, bruised, broken, rashed, and strained during the season.

I actually have a love hate relationship with the off-season.  I look forward to the time that I can spend just riding.  Riding by myself or with others, but without any pressure for time, distance or intensity.  Just ride.  For fun.  Ok, but I also miss the road racing, the crits, the time trials, and the beers in the hotels after races.  I miss yelling at teammates to cover a break, I miss "sitting in gum", I miss team rides that hurt worse than racing.  It is a duplicity that is hard to wrap my head around.

Really, this time of year is great, but I am not looking forward to the frozen toes and fingers.  The time spent indoors sweating pools under the trainer.  The sun setting at 5pm.  Getting dizzy and on the verge of nausea at the end of a set of intervals.  These are not a few of my favorite things.  I vow to enjoy this time before the fridged temps keep me house bound and riding the couch.

Cedro Peak

Last Saturday I woke up with a massive elevation/one too many beers hang-over in the oxygen-challenged city of Albuquerque.  Something about hanging out with my sister and the ability to open a refrigerator makes for a toxic combination of too much blood in my alcohol.  Head feeling like a broken cinder block in a metal trash can, I hit the coffee pretty hard and tried to force some bread down.  Rye bread and I don't get along, and in my weakened condition the first bite of what was supposed to be sourdough -almost came up.  Luckily I had an army's supply of clif bar products in my bags.  Sports nutrition is awesome for "curing" the chemical imbalance that a night of consumption creates, oh yeah and coffee, don't forget the coffee.

Thirty mins down the road and I was in a parking lot of one of Cedro Peak's trail heads, still reeling from my night of "youthful magic moment", I was starting to question the intelligence of riding.  Then I came to my senses and threw a leg over the saddle.  Good choice.  Buttery single track, some rocks, lots of rocks, bermed down-hills, and lung busting climbs -this is the mountain in mountain biking.  All other riding is just off-road.  The fog in my brain lifted and the machine that is the human body started firing on all cylinders, Houston we have lift-off.

Cedro is a multi-use trail system in Cibola National Forest and Albuquerque Open Space.  The trails range from fire roads, motorcycle tails, to double and single track.  They can be as hard as World Cup or as easy as weekend warrior.  It has not rained in the Albuquerque area in a very long time and some parts of the trails were powder, we are talking over the rim powder.  I have ridden in over the rim sand (pain), but never over the rim powder.  The traction is not that bad, but it just freaks you out, some drift involved but nothing that you wont get used to.  At Cedro you have to earn your turns and there is work involved to "get the goods".

 

The biggest problem I have with riding Cedro is charging all of the climbs.  I power up as fast as I can so I get to the down-hill, a little over-eager on my part, but I get so excited and the prospect of another down-hill is too much.  Rookie, I know, but railing bermed turns through pine trees with mountain vistas in the background just does something to me -kid in a candy store with a winning lottery ticket.  Cedro will make you pay, there is no free ride and you have to get up to get down.

the shape of things

I've been neglecting my road bike, so I went out with the team on a little 100k route yesterday.  Switching from a fat 5" travel rock-eating plush monster to a skinny-tire big-ring soul crusher is one giant step for mankind.  I have been riding a road bike, but only on the rollers and trainer not on the actual road.  I would have to say that I am in mtb shape and I really thought it would translate to the road.  I do love pulling the bike out of the car with one arm and not having to strain, and every pedal stroke seems to make the bike jump forward.  

Speed is relative.  Relative to the action that is accompanying you at the time.  5mph over a rock-garden can seem like warp speed, 20mph in a peloton can seem like a brisk walk with chatting and jokes.  Climbing a nice long hill at 13mph with the legs burning can take a lifetime, but the downhill reward is gone in an instant.  And like that, it is gone.  Pain.  It comes, it goes, sometimes it packs a bag and stays too long like your un-invited relatives who are on their way to see the world's largest ball of twine.

I'll be honest, I'm a little beat-up from my little foray into the road bike scene yesterday.  I am thankful I took out the full carbon pave blasting machine, instead of the rain/training bike that gets most of the punishment this time of year.  I would probably still be in bed.  Coffee was barely enough to get the life back into this shell.  Thank you for the bountiful caffeine that you have bestowed on this wonderful bean, and the ability to roast, grind, and brew.  Amen.

Who would have thought that being in mtb shape would not carry over onto the somewhat smooth Oklahoma roads?  I would have bet that bouncing around all those miles and hours these months that a little pavement would cause no-harm to my super human off-road shape.  A bike is a bike is a bike?  Yes and No.  Location location location.

With a little help

MTB is, for the most part, a solitary activity/sport.  You get out in nature and ride the trails with the freedom of being solo and doing it all by yourself.  It is one of the attractive elements of the mountain bike, a self-propelled freedom vehicle that can take you to places that are remote, out of the way, and beautiful.  The mountain bike is a tool/toy that is used for solitary consumption of remote singletrack.  Mountain bikers are notorious for being self-training, self-sufficient, self-riding apparitions of the offroad two wheeled locomotion.

I personally have spent countless hours peddling a fat-tire beast up over around and down, solo.  Yes, it was by choice.  I wanted to ride my pace, my trails, my time, me me me.  No one to slow me down, no one to chase.  Selfish riding, all about me. 

There are no words that I can put down to describe what it is to ride with someone that you can push and can push you back.  It's a one-up showdown singletrack style.  Progression happens when you hear the knobbies grabbing some hard-pack in a smooth right hander a millisecond behind.  That's right, when you can feel the rider behind you without having to "look back", -that is a two handed push toward progress.

I'm lucky to have someone I can ride with that pushes me to be uncomfortable, to ride one the edge, to progress.  I do my best to return the favor.  I have been fortunate to be the lead rider on our rides (thanks to my knowledge of the trail system), otherwise it would be a different story if I were the one chasing.  I am dead after riding in the lead, I would be obliterated if I were the one chasing.

I know why mountain bikers ride alone, and for the most part I enjoy a good solo ride, but when I get to ride with an equal or someone of superior talent -it makes for an experience like no other.  Don't get me wrong.  I enjoy company of any skill level on rides.  Riding with someone else and getting to share in the experience of the ride together is what it is all about.  If I had it my way, every ride would be a shared experience.  Let me know when you want to go.

Could be worse

I'm getting ready for a mtb ride this afternoon, and a look at the weather says 32* wind chill of 23* with a 30% chance of snow flurries.  If you reside below the 32*of latitude then this is not a good day to be out and about, as for you people who reside in a more Northerly climate -it is probably a t-shirt and shorts kind of day.

Location, Location, Location.
I should be counting my lucky stars that I am actually getting outside and not having to shovel 26" of snow to do so.  Sure we all want nice sunny days to throw a leg over the saddle and get some miles and hours of freedom.  I would prefer to sit on the couch and watch episodes of syndicated nothingness until I want to buy everything that is advertised, and I really do think that Depends would be a great way to watch more TV.  I digress, I have decided to brave the elements along with a couple of guys that for some reason want to take the "hard-man" approach to doing this thing that we like to do. 

I am going to get "suited up" to go ride.  I will, when I get back -through the magic of time travel, let you know how my little jaunt was.  If I survived, had fun, was miserable, so stay tuned.  As my sister says "ciao for now".

I'm back, showered up, recovering, at least as good as I can be right now.  I put in a hard day on the mtb yesterday, and then followed that up today with a real roaster.  I'll write about that later.  Anyway, the weather was really not much of a deterrent, well it was livable.  The digits were a little cold and had to stop a couple of times to bring them back to life.  You kind of need them to put the brakes on, the toes were cold, but not frozen -at least I thought.  When I got in the shower I realized that my big toes were in fact frozen, nothing a little hot water couldn't fix.

Conclusion:
It is great to be able to get out with friends and ride, even if the thermometers say it is FREEZING outside.

Riding with Ghosts

Palo Duro Canyon is the site of a massacre of women, children and horses.  I don't have any reference or historical backing to this, except for what I have heard over the years living in the area.  I am too lazy to look up any facts right now, so for the unsubstantiated rumor:  the Indian fighters waited for the men/braves/warriors to leave the women and children alone, and once alone... well you get the picture.  It is said that you can hear horses at night in the canyon.  People on hikes have heard people talking (mostly women and children's voices) (not in English).  Scary stuff right?  Anyway if you are interested look it up.

I went on a solo road trip to PDC to ride mountain bikes and I encountered ghosts.  Ghosts of my past, and of my past "self".  There is something powerful about being in a place that you have history, history all around, around every corner, over every hill. My parents brought me to PDC before I can remember. We would come down after church for lunch and stay until we would have to go back for church that night. I spent many hours exploring, hiking, and playing. These ghosts flow in and out passing through me when I see the picnic grounds, the old slide and playground. There on the right is the creek we used to wade in. There is the small knol that was used as a fort for capture the flag.

Driving down into the canyon one of the first landmarks is the amphitheater where they have the musical Texas. I can see the people dancing and singing, and all those Texas flags blowing in the ample Panhandle plains wind. I remember some of the friends and family that we would take with us to the play. We once saw a cougar walking on the foothills behind the actors on the stage during a performance.  Bits and pieces of memory come to me as if changing channels in my brain, not staying on one long enough before the next one and then another.

Here is the area where the Sad Monkey Scenic Railroad once ran it's tiny train. My grandmother would buy me some soft serve and a ticket. I would try to finish the ice cream before the summer heat laid it to rest at my feet dripping down my forearms. We would sit on the picnic tables waiting for the train to come into the station for our turn to ride around, see the sights and hear the stories of the conductor.

Fast forward a few years and I'm with the high school marching band on a Saturday afternoon chasing girls (no, really chasing girls).  Going on misadventures with testosterone charged teenage boys looking for thrills and adrenalin.  We tried our hand at caving and when we got far enough in and had no flashlight, we opted for rock climbing.  The whole time trying to impress the lovely girls in the band.  It is a surprise that no one was killed, maimed, injured or arrested.  Oh, someone broke a finger playing Frisbee with the lid to a 5 gallon bucket.  Frisbee, football, and other activities were outlawed shortly thereafter by the band director.

I've spent hours and hours in this canyon, lunches, meals, picnics and several breakfasts.  The memories that are in these walls of the canyon, in the small streams, rocks and trees that I have compiled over the years.  Some more recent than others.  Some more prominent like the "romantic" make-out sessions watching the sunset over the rim of the canyon. Oh, the brilliance of a amorous teenage boy.  Then there are the memories that I can't remember like that time...

anticipation

I am leaving in the morning to take a short road trip to go mtbing with a friend, and there is a slight buzz.  An electricity of knowing what is coming, but an uncertainty of the spontaneity of mtbing.  I don't define myself as a mtbiker, but I ride a mtbike, and I think about riding.  I think about riding all the time and when I am not thinking about riding my subconscious is. 

I rail perfect turns on the sides of overpasses.  I've launched swiss precision wheelie drops from the BOK tower over the Mayo and landed on SWBoulevard.  I weave in and out of a traffic rock gardens, drop into a grassy median for a little road-gap action over a semi-truck.  I gapped the turnpike at least 27 times on Tuesday on the way to the City.  I've ridden my bike on millions of miles on untracked, unridden, unmarked trails. 

I've replayed trails over and over again, just like your friend in middle school that wore out a tape playing the same song that they first made-out to.  (sorry kids, probably wont get that reference)  I've ridden on every continent, the Moon, and even Mars.  When I am on the bike I think about riding more, more than the body will allow. 

I've pushed the body just to get "that feeling".  Legs are tired, back and arms are on fire, but must keep peddling just to have fun.  The smart play would be to stop or slow down, but the little devil on the shoulder is screaming for me to pin it, and the other little devil on my other shoulder is yelling "pin it, Nancy. Is that all you got?".  So what are you gonna do?

The bike is clean, chain is oiled and the drive-train adjusted (thanks Shimano).  Tools and gear are not packed but readied, it's like a military operation.  Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.  Ride until you can't see straight, someone gets hurt, or you have equipment failure.  Roadtrips are conquests, you come home with your crew and you can't stop talking about what you just lived through.  That is LIVIN'.

Recently

I took a mtb road trip to Stillwater to ride at McMurtry with several guys from the team.  Most of us are roadies and mtb is a foreign activity that only the insane take part.  I cut my teeth on the mtb, so I know my way around the kitchen so to speak.  We were a mixed bag of riders, from the new to off-road to the fat tire fiend.  This made for a wide range of skill level, but we all had a great time.  I think the guys that were new to the dirt were the ones that really had an eye opening experience.

Lake McMurtry is a great place to ride mtb, because it is fast flowie and not too technical.  And it is hard to get lost being that it consists of four loops and great signage.  The trails were in great condition, except for all of the leaves just waiting to steal your traction in a high-speed corner, or conceal a stump, hole, or rocks.  The temps were great and the weather was in the perfect range.  We had nine guys total and for the most part we kept the group together and did not lose anyone or cause any bodily damage that a beer could not fix.

I've said it time and again.  I ride mtb for fun, not fitness, not to train, and not to race.  I love to get a nice section of singletrack that flows and just rail, allowing the mind to shut off and the body and bike to meld together until I am flying through the trees, railing turns, and going weight-less over berms.  This is where it is at for me, the freedom that riding a bike can give...but at a different level transcending mere transportation/sport and becoming a lifestyle.

You have probably heard or seen "Live to Ride, Ride to Live".  I know what that means, I can't say that that is my mantra, but it would be a dream to be able to live by those words.  We talk about Pros and what it means to be Pro.  Getting paid to race bikes, How cool is that?  Think about that for a second, now think about getting paid just to ride your bike.  There is a very small percentage of mtb riders that get paid to ride.  It's no cake walk, these guys have to launch off of cliffs, ride crazy stunts 20' in the air, and do a contest or two.  All in all these guys get paid to ride their bikes have someone take video and pictures of them for their sponsors to sell their products.  Lucky.

Weekend Pass

My wife went with a group of ladies to Chicago to run the Chicago Marathon over the weekend. I told her that they could go to Chicago, just to shop, they did not have to use "running a marathon" as an excuse. Anyway, with the wife gone that pretty much gave me the weekend pass to do what I wanted. Oh, the thought of a pants-free weekend, dishes piling up, empty pizza boxes and bottles. Sounds like a solo weekend dream. No, I loaded up the kids dogs my road and mtbike and just enough clothes that I had to double up on shirts. Note: I had one extra cycling kit that did not get used. I was in AMA Texas in 5.5hrs. Twelve hours after that I found myself railing some sweet Texas singletrack.

Palo Duro Canyon is Texas' replica of the Grand Canyon. It is just a hole in the ground, but with some excellent singletrack to be had. I think there is about 18-20miles of trail that has everything you could ask for in fast flowing trails. If you find yourself in the Amarillo TX area it is a must. $5 a person for the State Parks entry fee for the full day -well worth it. My Mom accompanied me to the park and she read in the car while I proceeded to destroy all the trails in a looped frenzy. It is a different style of ride than what I get here at Turkey Mnt, and I didn't want to let off the gas. I wasted myself in the name of speed and flow, when the dust settled I had just under 18miles in an hour and a half, and some very tired dirty legs. My stomach was ready for something more substantial than a Clif bar.

Post ride nutrition is best had at Country Pride restaurant just outside Amarillo. It has been a family eatery tradition since before I was born. I recommend anything that they cook. It is as hole-in-the-wall, greasy spoon, country as they come. Do not pass it up. The Tex-Mex is more Tex than Mex, but the enchiladas are to die for, really too many of them and you will have a blockage. Besides being a giant truckstop I do not know what the industry is in Amarillo? What I do know...everyone goes out to eat, and the restaurants in and out of town are great, top that off with Texas beef raised just miles from your plate and you have a winning combo. (not a good place to be vegan, sorry friends much respect to you, but I love my cow, on a plate that is) Oh, and if you happen to be a fan of the food from south of the border, then you are in luck. Tex-Mex is super good, don't go to a chain for Mex-food, go to the little local places, it is unlike anything you have ever had.

Sunday morning I took the Belgian workhorse out for a little jaunt on the Texas Farm to Market roads for my second ever road ride in my home town. I had tired legs so I started into the wind, but when I turned and had the tailwind I crushed. Power dropped, HR dropped, Speed showed me numbers I get when going downhill. A Texas tailwind is worth about 5-7mph avg with about half the power. Check that again, it is not a misprint, and it is no BS. Now, it is no fun working in the headwind, but once you earn it, the tailwind is without words. Fast. I was very surprised at how fast and smooth the roads are, even out in the middle-of-no-where-country-farmland. Of course the Ridley does have a little to do with the smoothness, but the roads are in great shape. I have not seen cleaner shoulders, not even in Kansas. Now I am back in the land of potholes, glass, cracks and rocks....... and that's the good roads.

I regularly switch between my road and mountain bike. I threw a leg over the mtb yesterday and went to the trails. As soon as I left the pavement all bets were off. I was skittish.  I couldn't handle the bike, it felt like I was going to kill myself. Then I realized something... I'm riding a Mountain bike, not a skinny tire Road bike. Ride it like a mountain bike, don't worry about all the dirt, rocks, and roots. Point it and go, it is made to go over just about anything in your way.


Riding on the road you are always looking for the smoothest lines devoid of potholes, glass, rocks, cracks, dirt, and gravel. People are always pointing out things to avoid, on the road it is straight out point to point speed. Railing turns on a two centimeter patch of rubber requires a tuned ride and skill on the part of the rider. It is fairly mindless work to ride the road, without too much bike-to-rider interface. Grip it and Rip it.

When you are accustomed to riding on the road and the handling characteristics of a road bike, switching to the mountain can sometimes be a shock to the system. MTbikes will eat just about anything you throw at them, they are perfectly capable machines. Sometimes the rider is the problem with why the bike will not do what it is told. I tried yesterday to ride my mtbike like a road bike, until I realized what I was doing. Once I got "right" with my bike everything worked itself out.

Picking lines is an art form, and sometimes the smoothest line is the roughest looking. I always say "flow" everything has to flow like water. Water is said to take the path of least resistance, tell that to class V rapids. In respect to rocks, water does not always go around them, sometimes it goes over them. Such is life on a mtbike, you can't always go around the rocks, and sometimes it is best to go over them.


So whenever you find yourself faced with rocks in life or out on the trail...just "flow".

unfaithful

I'm a cheater.  I love my bike.  I love my bikes, that's right plural, bikes.  I love to ride my road bike, but sometimes I'm thinking about my MTB.  Yes, I am coming clean, I'm trying to salvage my relationship with my roadbike, well to be totally honest, I have two road bikes.  Oh, man this is worse than I thought, forget I said anything.  I'm just going to keep on the juggling act and hope I don't get caught.  Maybe polygamy is the answer, I did live in Utah for 5 years, do I qualify for some parting gifts?

I fell in love with mountain biking in Utah, and consummated the relationship in Colorado.  I left the mountains to come to Tulsa (long story...read the book when it comes out) and the guys at the shop said "ride Turkey Mountain".  I said "where's that" "Just across the river" with a finger pointed toward the West.  "What? There's no mountains here, I came from the mountains.  I know mountains, that's a hill at best."  And to this day I still get humbled by the "hill" that is Turkey Mountain.  I have sacrificed blood, skin, and equipment to that overgrown speed bump, and it still treats me with disrespect.

I don't know when I started to cheat on my MTB, but it happened about five years ago and I've been faithfully unfaithful ever since.  I have recently been involved with a new mountain bike and the road bikes have been hanging on the garage wall a lot more than they are accustomed.  My first true untainted love on two wheels is the Mtb and always will be.  I will cheat on my the Mtb, once a dog always a dog.

Whatch ya got under tha hood?

I've been putting miles on my new Giant Trance X3, and have been loving every min of it.  I need to do a proper review of the bike, but I am afraid it would sound like Giant was stuffing my pockets with cash.  Seriously this bike is killin' it, there are times when I feel like I am just a passenger and along for the ride.  You like to feel that you can just go buy something off the shelf and it will change your life, change your luck, make you faster, and get the girl at the end of the movie.  Well, this bike is just that for me.  I have been tearing up rock gardens that I used to hate to put into my rides.  Now, I am trying to push the limits on this bike, I have already surpassed my limits and the bike has carried me well beyond what was within my normal operating limits.

You have probably heard "it's not the bike, but the engine on the bike."  I have to say that it's not the engine, it IS the BIKE.  I'm riding stuff that I used to "make it through".  My bike is possessed with evil spirits that can drill it, not that I am complaining, but it is just a little weird.  Oh well, I should just sit down, shut up and enjoy the ride.

There are so many products out there in the marketplace that will make you faster, stronger, and help you recover.  Many of said products have no scientific evidence that they actually improve anything, but if you "think" that something does something for you then doesn't it "work"?  The power of suggestion is something that you can't bottle or package, but if you buy something in a bottle or package that you "believe in" is it not worth it?

So, I'm going to ride my "touched" MTB, drink my recovery drink, pull on my compression socks, and listen to some Jack Handey self help cassettes.  Because I am good enough, fast enough, and gosh darn it I don't care if it works or not.  It works for me.