Cold, wet ride - pure heaven.



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J

Jonesy

Guest
The gravel is wet, and the large stone aggregate of the logging road is slippery in every way - the
knobs just aren't biting. Up, and up, and up, climbing into the cold fog, snow on the ground in many
places, damp leaf litter in others, waiting to act as the lubricant to reunite me with the ground.
The whole climb is a fight - fight against the cold air, fight against gravity, fight against iffy
traction - a fight I feel I'm losing. My legs are burning, and my mind is set to conquering it all,
head down, jaw set, get-up-that-hill-lactic-acid-be- damned determination. And the hill is winning.
I get to the turn-around damp and in poor sorts, "why the hell did I decide to come out today?
Football and beer would have been so much more fun." Dammit, I'm cold and wet and dirty, and I have
to now ride down the damn hill. Sit down on a rock, grab a handfull of goldfish crackers out and
munch a bit.

The woods are quiet. A persistent and steady off-rhythm of drips serenades my "lunch", and I swill a
bit of warm water to wash down the "cheese" flavor. Hmm, well, it's always nice to be out in the
woods, I guess. And it'll be warm in the car when I get going, so, really, so what if it's a little
cold? I just need to get back there in one piece, and then I can get to my beer and football.

First corner, 10 feet down the trail, the front slips on a root at an oblique angle to the trail.
The front decides to pop off the trail, and down hill. Oh, **** - tuck and take it. Only going at a
walking pace, so no big deal. wipe off the dirt and leaves, get back up, and start off again,
telling myself to take it easy, no need to shave thirty seconds off the run if I'm gonna smack a
tree as a reward. I'm thoroughly annoyed now.

The rest of the run down the trail is over in a flash - as I relaxed, the bike became just an
accessory, barely noticed as I flowed over roots and rocks and leaves and dirt. Everything going
smoothly, time slows down and you can see and feel it all - smooth, smooth, smooth. Where it's all
about the ride, and not what's being ridden. After so many rides - countless, really, I've never
felt the bike "disappear." Always conscious of the brakes, or suspension, or some other detail. And
always picking carefully each foot of trail to go over. And thinking hard about the next switchback,
or stream crossing, or narrow spot with exposure. Not now; it's just the woods and me, and I'm
barely there.

The trail ends, and it's back to the fireroad. I stop and think - do I really want to go home?
"Do it again!" my mind shouts. No, don't ruin it - know when to call it a day. Football and beer
are no reward
- all I can do is daydream of that all-too-short trip down the hill. I head to the garage and wipe
down the bike, lost in the just-riding-along in my mind. "Do it again!"
--
Jonesy
 
P

Penny S

Guest
Jonesy murmured while asleep:
> The gravel is wet, and the large stone aggregate of the logging road is slippery in every way -
> the knobs just aren't biting. Up, and up, and up, climbing into the cold fog, snow on the ground
> in many places, damp leaf litter in others, waiting to act as the lubricant to reunite me with the
> ground. The whole climb is a fight - fight against the cold air, fight against gravity, fight
> against iffy traction - a fight I feel I'm losing. My legs are burning, and my mind is set to
> conquering it all, head down, jaw set, get-up-that-hill-lactic-acid-be- damned determination. And
> the hill is winning. I get to the turn-around damp and in poor sorts, "why the hell did I decide
> to come out today? Football and beer would have been so much more fun." Dammit, I'm cold and wet
> and dirty, and I have to now ride down the damn hill. Sit down on a rock, grab a handfull of
> goldfish crackers out and munch a bit.
>

cool -sounds much better than spinning to the BeeGees and Donna Summer, hurl. penny
 
S

Shawn Curry

Guest
Jonesy wrote:
> The gravel is wet, and the large stone aggregate of the logging road is slippery in every way -
> the knobs just aren't biting. Up, and up, and up, climbing into the cold fog, snow on the ground
> in many places, damp leaf litter in others, waiting to act as the lubricant to reunite me with the
> ground. The whole climb is a fight - fight against the cold air, fight against gravity, fight
> against iffy traction - a fight I feel I'm losing. My legs are burning, and my mind is set to
> conquering it all, head down, jaw set, get-up-that-hill-lactic-acid-be- damned determination. And
> the hill is winning. I get to the turn-around damp and in poor sorts, "why the hell did I decide
> to come out today? Football and beer would have been so much more fun." Dammit, I'm cold and wet
> and dirty, and I have to now ride down the damn hill. Sit down on a rock, grab a handfull of
> goldfish crackers out and munch a bit.
>
> The woods are quiet. A persistent and steady off-rhythm of drips serenades my "lunch", and I swill
> a bit of warm water to wash down the "cheese" flavor. Hmm, well, it's always nice to be out in the
> woods, I guess. And it'll be warm in the car when I get going, so, really, so what if it's a
> little cold? I just need to get back there in one piece, and then I can get to my beer and
> football.
>
> First corner, 10 feet down the trail, the front slips on a root at an oblique angle to the trail.
> The front decides to pop off the trail, and down hill. Oh, **** - tuck and take it. Only going at
> a walking pace, so no big deal. wipe off the dirt and leaves, get back up, and start off again,
> telling myself to take it easy, no need to shave thirty seconds off the run if I'm gonna smack a
> tree as a reward. I'm thoroughly annoyed now.
>
> The rest of the run down the trail is over in a flash - as I relaxed, the bike became just an
> accessory, barely noticed as I flowed over roots and rocks and leaves and dirt. Everything going
> smoothly, time slows down and you can see and feel it all - smooth, smooth, smooth. Where it's all
> about the ride, and not what's being ridden. After so many rides - countless, really, I've never
> felt the bike "disappear." Always conscious of the brakes, or suspension, or some other detail.
> And always picking carefully each foot of trail to go over. And thinking hard about the next
> switchback, or stream crossing, or narrow spot with exposure. Not now; it's just the woods and me,
> and I'm barely there.
>
> The trail ends, and it's back to the fireroad. I stop and think - do I really want to go home? "Do
> it again!" my mind shouts. No, don't ruin it - know when to call it a day. Football and beer are
> no reward
> - all I can do is daydream of that all-too-short trip down the hill. I head to the garage and wipe
> down the bike, lost in the just-riding-along in my mind. "Do it again!"
> --
> Jonesy

"In the Zone" Cliche, but when it fits it fits. Nice RR.

Cheers, Shawn
 
R

Roger Buchanan

Guest
Jonesy wrote:
>
> The gravel is wet, and the large stone aggregate of the logging road just-riding-along in my mind.
> "Do it again!"

After a morning on the stationary bike, and an afternoon of shopping and errands, that RR was
*EXACTLY* what I needed.

I can empathize with the front wheel washing out on ya. Last summer I washed out the front wheel 6
times in two loops. Four of them happened on one trip around the loop. Three of those happened in
less than five minutes.

CRasH! Down he goes, and up he gets.

CrASH! Down he goes again, muttering while getting up.

CRAsh! Down he goes yet once more! (This boy has all the "learning from experience" skills of a
logging stump)

This time he stays down, muttering something about "Crawling back to the trailhead, dragging my bike
behind me, would be better than this".

Thanks again Jonesy!
--
NOTE: to Reply to this, remove the phrase "NOSPAM" from my "Reply To:" address, or it will
be returned.

- Rog
 
B

B a r r y B u r

Guest
On 8 Dec 2003 11:53:15 -0800, [email protected] (Jonesy) wrote:

>The gravel is wet, and the large stone aggregate of the logging road is slippery in every way -
>the knobs just aren't biting. Up, and up, and up, climbing into the cold fog, snow on the ground
>in many places, damp leaf litter in others, waiting to act as the lubricant to reunite me with
>the ground.

I prefer warm, wet rides in the winter.

Oh? We're talking about biking!

Neeeevermind.... <G>

Barry
 
B

Bb

Guest
On 8 Dec 2003 11:53:15 -0800, Jonesy wrote:
> The whole climb is a fight - fight against the cold air, fight against gravity, fight against iffy
> traction - a fight I feel I'm losing. My legs are burning, and my mind is set to conquering it
> all, head down, jaw set, get-up-that-hill-lactic-acid-be- damned determination. And the hill is
> winning.

Well, your post got me inspired to get out and ride in the mess of wet leaves, rocks, and
blowdown. It was pretty much your ride in reverse. I finished with the climb, sans the
determination part. I figured I didn't have a lot to prove, being out there all alone. I'd have
made it, if it weren't for some slippery logs & one friggin' 1-inch stick that unexpectedly caused
my rear wheel to slip 'n slide.

> The woods are quiet. A persistent and steady off-rhythm of drips serenades my "lunch", and I swill
> a bit of warm water to wash down the "cheese" flavor. Hmm, well, it's always nice to be out in the
> woods, I guess.

It is really quiet out there this time of year, isn't it?

> First corner, 10 feet down the trail, the front slips on a root at an oblique angle to the trail.
> The front decides to pop off the trail, and down hill. Oh, **** - tuck and take it.

Hehe, at least I avoided that part. Trying to negotiate a downhill in such a mess is a
barely-under-control situation.

> Where it's all about the ride, and not what's being ridden. After so many rides - countless,
> really, I've never felt the bike "disappear." Always conscious of the brakes, or suspension, or
> some other detail. And always picking carefully each foot of trail to go over. And thinking hard
> about the next switchback, or stream crossing, or narrow spot with exposure. Not now; it's just
> the woods and me, and I'm barely there.

A great feeling, to be sure!

--
-BB- To reply to me, drop the attitude (from my e-mail address, at least)
 
M

MattB

Guest
"B a r r y B u r k e J r ." <[email protected]> wrote in message
news:[email protected]...
> On 8 Dec 2003 11:53:15 -0800, [email protected] (Jonesy) wrote:
>
> >The gravel is wet, and the large stone aggregate of the logging road is slippery in every way -
> >the knobs just aren't biting. Up, and up, and up, climbing into the cold fog, snow on the ground
> >in many places, damp leaf litter in others, waiting to act as the lubricant to reunite me with
> >the ground.
>
> I prefer warm, wet rides in the winter.
>
> Oh? We're talking about biking!
>
> Neeeevermind.... <G>
>
> Barry

Maybe after the ride to warm back up!

Matt
 
W

Westie

Guest
"Jonesy" <[email protected]> wrote in message
news:[email protected]... <snip>
> - all I can do is daydream of that all-too-short trip down the hill. I head to the garage and wipe
> down the bike, lost in the just-riding-along in my mind. "Do it again!"

Hot and dry here. I'd forgotten all about those cold wet slippery roots and leaves on my favourite
trails. Nice report.
--
Westie (Replace 'invalid' with 'yahoo' when replying.)
 
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