My wife and I got my Dad tickets to go see WWE Smackdown for his birthday/Christmas. I would also go with him, you know for company. He can't go by himself. Dad is a huge fan of the 'rastling. Watches it religiously. Since before Hulk, Andre, and the WWF Dad would watch. With the advent of the VCR he could "tape it" and watch it later, and now with the DVR and Dish network he is set up.
Yes, we used to bug him with the "is it Real" questions, and how stupid the conversations were. Over the years I have made peace with the authenticity, and have embraced the entertainment value. Whatever that value may be, my Dad is entertained by it, and that is all that matters. Right? I think it is great that he has something that is his joy. The last several trips to Texas that I have made have involved several hours of watching 'rastling with my Dad. Like anything on TV if I watch it long enough I get into it, or just get used to it.
I went into this WWE "project" as something for my Dad, and I wanted to go into it with a good attitude. I love my Dad and want to support him, the way he has supported me all my life. I was going to enjoy going to the 'rastling matches, if it killed my sensibilities. At first I was going to make a joke of the whole thing, but then I realized that, this is something that my Dad is into. So, I can't make a joke of something that is part of my Dad, no matter what I think about it.
After going to see the WWE, I have made some changes to my thinking. A) The people that go to watch are just as diverse as any sporting event involving a winner and a loser. I saw everything there. All walks of life, and yes I wanted to document it all on film, but that would make me and A-hole. One can throw classifications around all day, just be careful that you don't get hit by them yourself. "People who live in glass houses -shouldn't throw rocks" The average 'rastling fan is there to be entertained. And you know what? It is entertaining. The fans love it and the WWE spoon-feeds them what they want. It is like the most base common denominator entertainment, but it works, and works well. Is it simple, yes -but it works. I cannot hate on these people because of my system of entertainment. They love what they love, and it is to be entertained. Plain and simple. Don't judge.
2) I was entertained. I had a great time. Do you know how cathartic it is to Boo the villain? Cheer the hero? I found out that clapping or chanting someones name they gain strength and can whoop anyone. It is amazing, I think the next time someone needs CPR, I'm just going to clap and chant their name. This multi-million $ enterprise sells a great product, and they do it a lot. They are playing a show almost every-other night. I am impressed with this business. Not a fan, but I was entertained. I would go back. It is base, simple, and no matter the authenticity it is pure. Pure entertainment.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Grinding Gears
This last Sunday I left work and jumped on the turnpike to head to Texas. Roadtrip to see my Dad, and Mom, but this was for my Dad's 70th birthday. My wife and I bought tickets to take my Dad to see WWE Smackdown at the BOK. I was on my way to pick him up and hang out. He is a huge fan of wrestling, Professional Wrestling that is. Has been since I can remember. And, I remember watching wrestling with my Dad on TV, well as long as I can remember watching TV. That is a lot of TV wrestling watching. It's a pure miracle that I am so well adjusted. Or am I?
Monday came early and we set out to ride, me on my bike and my Dad in the follow truck with the dogs. I was on a mission to bag some climbs. There are not too many "climbs" in the Texas Panhandle, but there happens to be two massive (by panhandle standards) climbs 40some odd miles from my parents front door. I set off to slay these two dragons and call it a day. The weather was very beautiful, but the wind was forecast to be out of the North, it was out of the South. Headwind/crosswind all the way. Two hours and some change later we were descending down into the canyon. I could see my prize across the way. It was daunting, and staring me in the face. I flinched. Totally underestimated this climb. I felt beat. Scared.
I stripped off my armwarmers, hat, and unzipped the jersey. This was going to be a battle. Man I did not do my homework on this climb. I had already, in my mind, won this thing. About a mile into this slog, I cracked, there was a small explosion, one might call it a Pop. Yeah, that was me. Done, with a big fork sticking out of my back, not even half-way up. I don't know what it was that hurt the worst? Lungs? Legs? D -all of the above and other things not even on the list were calling in damage reports. "Captain, we've lost contact with the brain, the legs are out of power, and the lungs have imploded. Imminent and total destruction."
Not to ruin the story, but if you are reading this -then I had to write it, so I am still alive. There was no way I was going to willingly get off of my bike with my Dad in the car behind me. Gravity was going to have to pull me to the ground, unconscious, eyes rolled back, mouth foaming. I could not stop even though every fiber of my existence was a deafening roar to quit. I would like to write that I "dug deep" "went to my special place" "gutted it out" "buried myself in the pain cave", but these would be lies. Knowing my Dad was with me, I forced every labored pedal turn one over the other in a slow display of "square pedaling", out of sheer pride. That's right, Pride.
I had cracked, but I wanted my Dad to see me, to be proud of me, to show him that I could fight and be his son. I wanted to be able to look my Dad in the eye and know that he was proud of me. My Dad would have been proud of me if I had stopped at the start of the climb. I wanted him to share my victory against this climb as if it were his own. There was no stopping, I turned myself inside out for pride. I was so spent, I was finished. We pulled into the rest stop/scenic overlook to potty the dogs and to have a look at the beast from the top. I pulled off my jersey and changed into street clothes, put the bike in the pick-up bed and hopped in. Finished. I had one more climb to do, but not today. I won a battle, but the war is still there waiting. Like General MacArthur I shall return. I will live to fight another day, my Dad at my side pushing me up a small canyon wall in the Texas Panhandle.
Cheers, Dad
Monday came early and we set out to ride, me on my bike and my Dad in the follow truck with the dogs. I was on a mission to bag some climbs. There are not too many "climbs" in the Texas Panhandle, but there happens to be two massive (by panhandle standards) climbs 40some odd miles from my parents front door. I set off to slay these two dragons and call it a day. The weather was very beautiful, but the wind was forecast to be out of the North, it was out of the South. Headwind/crosswind all the way. Two hours and some change later we were descending down into the canyon. I could see my prize across the way. It was daunting, and staring me in the face. I flinched. Totally underestimated this climb. I felt beat. Scared.
I stripped off my armwarmers, hat, and unzipped the jersey. This was going to be a battle. Man I did not do my homework on this climb. I had already, in my mind, won this thing. About a mile into this slog, I cracked, there was a small explosion, one might call it a Pop. Yeah, that was me. Done, with a big fork sticking out of my back, not even half-way up. I don't know what it was that hurt the worst? Lungs? Legs? D -all of the above and other things not even on the list were calling in damage reports. "Captain, we've lost contact with the brain, the legs are out of power, and the lungs have imploded. Imminent and total destruction."
Not to ruin the story, but if you are reading this -then I had to write it, so I am still alive. There was no way I was going to willingly get off of my bike with my Dad in the car behind me. Gravity was going to have to pull me to the ground, unconscious, eyes rolled back, mouth foaming. I could not stop even though every fiber of my existence was a deafening roar to quit. I would like to write that I "dug deep" "went to my special place" "gutted it out" "buried myself in the pain cave", but these would be lies. Knowing my Dad was with me, I forced every labored pedal turn one over the other in a slow display of "square pedaling", out of sheer pride. That's right, Pride.
I had cracked, but I wanted my Dad to see me, to be proud of me, to show him that I could fight and be his son. I wanted to be able to look my Dad in the eye and know that he was proud of me. My Dad would have been proud of me if I had stopped at the start of the climb. I wanted him to share my victory against this climb as if it were his own. There was no stopping, I turned myself inside out for pride. I was so spent, I was finished. We pulled into the rest stop/scenic overlook to potty the dogs and to have a look at the beast from the top. I pulled off my jersey and changed into street clothes, put the bike in the pick-up bed and hopped in. Finished. I had one more climb to do, but not today. I won a battle, but the war is still there waiting. Like General MacArthur I shall return. I will live to fight another day, my Dad at my side pushing me up a small canyon wall in the Texas Panhandle.
Cheers, Dad
Thursday, February 2, 2012
I want to...
I've been to the well, and the well has gone dry.
Sometimes I just don't have anything to say, or feel like what I do have is not worth the effort. With that being said, I am putting the caffeine levels at max, chaining myself to the chair and putting letters on a glowing screen in no particular order. If they happen to form words and sentences and a paragraph or two then I will have a small success. Like clearing the first level of Mario Bros. Yeah, kinda like that.
It's not that I don't have the time. Between loads of laundry, vacuuming, dishes, cooking, brewing, riding bikes, and working at the shop, I really do have time. I do. I don't know what has been my problem? Desire? ADHD? Not drinking enough? Maybe I have too much to write about and it had clogged the well and nothing is going to come out? Is that even possible? With all the bike riding I have been doing, I have written hundreds of things in my head, if I could only get it in a readable format for you. My reader. All three of you, and Mike.
With my new phase of life working at the shop it has put a question mark on my super fabulous career as a Cat IV bike racer. I am OK with this. I want to race bikes, but I don't need to race bikes. Going into this race season I have put all training on hold, an indefinite hold because I don't know when, where, or how I will be racing. I have done zero intervals, I have looked at my HR but only out of curiosity, and watts are just numbers on a screen. I have 0 trainer miles. My fitness is a giant ?.
I am riding bikes to ride bikes. I, for the past several years have tried to have some sort of "training" program that I follow or don't follow. This has gotten me some fitness and has kept me entertained looking at power files, charts, graphs, zodiac signs, and fortune cookies. All of this has gotten me to the same place every time. This realization is............ I love to ride my bike. I love to ride whether it involves power/HR constraints or if it is just to run an errand. It is a bike. Bikes are cool. They are hella fun to ride.
Don't get me wrong, I still ride strapped up to my HR and the PT wheel is on the road bike. On the MTB I only look at distance, elevation, and time. For some strange reason I do wear my HR on the Cross bike. It's not that I don't like numbers, I do. I like to look at accumulated time, distance, and my favorite is elevation. I like to get high. I don't necessarily like to climb, but I like what climbing does for me. You got to get up to get down. This is so true on the MTB...earn your turns. On the road I love a good climb if it is rewarded with a screaming down hill and an ear to ear grin.
Riding a bike for the sake of just riding a bike has given me a new love for the bike. I don't "have" to ride my bike, I now want to ride my bike. My goals are no longer convoluted, my goal is simple.
Ride
Sometimes I just don't have anything to say, or feel like what I do have is not worth the effort. With that being said, I am putting the caffeine levels at max, chaining myself to the chair and putting letters on a glowing screen in no particular order. If they happen to form words and sentences and a paragraph or two then I will have a small success. Like clearing the first level of Mario Bros. Yeah, kinda like that.
It's not that I don't have the time. Between loads of laundry, vacuuming, dishes, cooking, brewing, riding bikes, and working at the shop, I really do have time. I do. I don't know what has been my problem? Desire? ADHD? Not drinking enough? Maybe I have too much to write about and it had clogged the well and nothing is going to come out? Is that even possible? With all the bike riding I have been doing, I have written hundreds of things in my head, if I could only get it in a readable format for you. My reader. All three of you, and Mike.
With my new phase of life working at the shop it has put a question mark on my super fabulous career as a Cat IV bike racer. I am OK with this. I want to race bikes, but I don't need to race bikes. Going into this race season I have put all training on hold, an indefinite hold because I don't know when, where, or how I will be racing. I have done zero intervals, I have looked at my HR but only out of curiosity, and watts are just numbers on a screen. I have 0 trainer miles. My fitness is a giant ?.
I am riding bikes to ride bikes. I, for the past several years have tried to have some sort of "training" program that I follow or don't follow. This has gotten me some fitness and has kept me entertained looking at power files, charts, graphs, zodiac signs, and fortune cookies. All of this has gotten me to the same place every time. This realization is............ I love to ride my bike. I love to ride whether it involves power/HR constraints or if it is just to run an errand. It is a bike. Bikes are cool. They are hella fun to ride.
Don't get me wrong, I still ride strapped up to my HR and the PT wheel is on the road bike. On the MTB I only look at distance, elevation, and time. For some strange reason I do wear my HR on the Cross bike. It's not that I don't like numbers, I do. I like to look at accumulated time, distance, and my favorite is elevation. I like to get high. I don't necessarily like to climb, but I like what climbing does for me. You got to get up to get down. This is so true on the MTB...earn your turns. On the road I love a good climb if it is rewarded with a screaming down hill and an ear to ear grin.
Riding a bike for the sake of just riding a bike has given me a new love for the bike. I don't "have" to ride my bike, I now want to ride my bike. My goals are no longer convoluted, my goal is simple.
Ride
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Come Together
I've been kind of a hermit with my riding lately, just riding from and to work with the detour here and there for some extra miles. Riding bikes is about riding bikes, but one can make the experience so much better when it is shared. I was reminded this on Sunday when I was coerced into riding with the group. It looked like the makings of a horrible ride. High wind and flat roads. Two of my least favorites especially when put together in an equation such as this. I rode to the shop to meet up with everyone and overdressed. Good thing I have a locker at the shop.
Quick inspection of the group, and I don't know half of these people. I'm starting to sweat, and it is not from layers -I just took those off. We headed out onto the trail and my worst fears were coming true. The crosswind had everyone ducking for cover. There were a few squirrely wheels and I was on high alert. Flat, right out of the box. This is not a good sign. I rubbed the Madonna hanging around my neck and made a quick plea.
Back on the road and we were working the headwind, we had the horse power to do it. I stayed in the back to keep an eye on everyone, and to get comfortable riding with strangers. It took a little more than an hour before we started having people come apart, but that was cool because we formed small groups and worked to keep everyone together.
I do love riding in groups, especially when it has good cohesion and somewhat of a common goal. Stay together. I firmly believe that absence makes the heart grow fonder, I just forget the fondness that I have. This was a great group ride and everyone in the group "got it". With everyone working together and staying together we were able to maintain a good pace and not have to surge and slow, surge and slow.
Companionship is a group thing, it's hard to practice alone. There is nothing better that flying with a tail wind with your 'mates arm over your shoulder bar-to-bar at 25mph telling you how good it is to be on a ride with you. The feeling is mutual. The shared experience, may it be one-on-one or with a group it is a special bond that we all share. Pain, Joy, Freedom, Friendship.
Quick inspection of the group, and I don't know half of these people. I'm starting to sweat, and it is not from layers -I just took those off. We headed out onto the trail and my worst fears were coming true. The crosswind had everyone ducking for cover. There were a few squirrely wheels and I was on high alert. Flat, right out of the box. This is not a good sign. I rubbed the Madonna hanging around my neck and made a quick plea.
Back on the road and we were working the headwind, we had the horse power to do it. I stayed in the back to keep an eye on everyone, and to get comfortable riding with strangers. It took a little more than an hour before we started having people come apart, but that was cool because we formed small groups and worked to keep everyone together.
I do love riding in groups, especially when it has good cohesion and somewhat of a common goal. Stay together. I firmly believe that absence makes the heart grow fonder, I just forget the fondness that I have. This was a great group ride and everyone in the group "got it". With everyone working together and staying together we were able to maintain a good pace and not have to surge and slow, surge and slow.
Companionship is a group thing, it's hard to practice alone. There is nothing better that flying with a tail wind with your 'mates arm over your shoulder bar-to-bar at 25mph telling you how good it is to be on a ride with you. The feeling is mutual. The shared experience, may it be one-on-one or with a group it is a special bond that we all share. Pain, Joy, Freedom, Friendship.
Monday, January 23, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, January 20, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
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???
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???
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)