Fall

When I was younger I hated the fall. The long shadows, and the cool wind blowing down the valley always made me feel blue. I hated the fall colors and the stupid back to school sales. All that meant to me was that I would have to go back to school. The thought of sitting indoors on a beautiful day made me sick. Fall in Va always came with a bit of rain. Not enough to ruin any plans but just enough to be annoying. As fall drags on, short sleeves and shorts turn in to flannel and jeans. The wind gets more of a bite, and the days grow way to short. By the time I was home from school, and scrawled down some nonsense as a substitute for my English homework, it would be too dark to do anything. The only thing left for me outside was dead leaves and the low sun in the sky.

Summer used to be the only season that mattered to me. As I get older I can appreciate them all in turn, fall epically. These days I look forward to the cool breeze. I put on my jeans and flannel, and wrench on my bike. I clean the mud that spatters the down tube, and shine up my Airborne after a long refreshing ride. It’s funny how our tastes change over the years. Like a kid who hates his veggies, only to find out how amazing green beans taste with some texas pete. Thoughts of sitting inside on a beautiful day still make me queasy. But now there is much more than dead leaves and a low sun.

Even now 15 years later, my memory can be triggered when I see long shadows, or when the wind blows dead leaves out of the trees. Only now the hate I had for the fall has shrunk away. Kind of like the grinch’s heart. Now that little nugget of hate is kept at bay, with my bike. The long shadows and cool wind of fall no longer make me mad. They refresh me like nothing else can. Ripping through trails you can almost feel the change happening. The air calms the burn in your lungs, and the colors on the trees are better than any HD TV I could be watching. Even the sounds of riding changes. The dirt gets cool and moist from the fall sprinkles that come down the valley. The air seems to flow through the trees easier than the stuffy, hot summer air. The dirt gets tacky in all the right places, and a new dimension opens when wet leaves are added to your favorite corners. Instead of a short sleeved jersey and some baggies, it’s knee warmers and merino wool. The mornings are crisp, and the nights beg for a wood fire. The fall brings out the best in the mountain bike world. Spring may be a time of excitement, new products and brand launches. The trails are clogged with spastic riders itchy from a long winter of frozen night rides. The fall is a trail riders season. A time to enjoy the few rides you have left before the big chill sets in. The leaves may be falling but there is no shortage of beauty on the trails. UCI Dh is done for the season, interbike has crept by and all the gravity parks are planning for winter. We don’t need that stuff in the fall. Mother nature is throwing a party of Her own.

I no longer feel blue when fall blows in. blue jeans and flannel are now a comfort to me instead of a slap in the face. The days are short but sweet. The colors don’t look dead to me anymore. The cool wind is a welcome relief, and the long shadows signal an urgency to enjoy the days to the fullness. Welcome back fall. It’s good to see you again.

The Scene

The scene around my local trails is one mirrored by, trail heads and parking lots all over the Us, and maybe the world. Cars, trucks, mini vans, and work vans. The sport of mountain biking bridges all Genders, races, and ages. Our noble sport does not put limitations on the people that want to be involved. I think the melting pot type attitude is what creates the atmosphere I love so much.

One of the local trail heads I frequent on a multi day basis is called Carvins Cove. Or just “The Cove”. On any given day, rain or shine, hot or cold, you will meet someone at the lot. The salt of the earth come to this location to dawn the lycra, baggies, full face, or XC lid. Maybe it is just the southern hospitality, but on many group rides new people tag on. They may be new to the area, or just passing through. It is always a pleasure to show this Gem of the Blueridge to fresh tires. It’s that hospitality that, on many occasions, has meant the difference in me walking, or riding back to my car. My trails are filled with locals that are willing to give the shirt off their back just to make sure you get the most out of your ride. I had one such experience in my Mountain bike youth. Inexperience and naivety, conspired to create a ride that put me miles away from my car in the dark and without food water or a phone. I must admit I am not proud or that experience, but it is one I have grown from. My saving grace was a very helpful rider by the name of John. I never saw him again, but he saved me a load of trouble. He had some water, a fresh tube, and a light to guide us home. Back at the car, a cold beverage was waiting as well as some advice. “Pack for the worst, and hope for the best”. Words that have been muttered all over through time. They were words that spoke to me and words I have never forgotten. Whenever I am out and pop a tube, or see someone walking back on the trail I always think back to that experience. Because of “John’s” help I try and pay it forward. Spinning up and down the hills on my Airborne, I always keep an eye and a ear out for other riders. Weather it is to help someone our with a trailside fix or just catch up with someone you have lost touch with. That’s what makes our little cross section of humanity so special. And also why we look out for one another. It’s like no other sport I know. We are all in competition with ourselves, but part of a greater whole.

It is the “John’s” of the world that make me appreciate the scene at my local trail heads. The baggies and the lycra mixing. Sharing a post ride beverage, and a word about the day. It does not matter if you ride a Wal-Mart special, or a $5000 carbon race bike. If you are at the Cove, you are welcome. You are part of the scene and the fabric of the mountain community. So Pack for the worst, and hope for the best. Keep an extra trail map in the boot of your car, share that brew with a new friend met in the lot. Jump in your cars, trucks and mini van, and bring the kids with you. It’s the fuel our sport needs to keep it alive. I will see you at the trailhead.

Solitude

Solitude

This is what Wikipedia says about solitude.

Solitude is a state of seclusion or isolation, i.e., lack of contact with people. It may stem from bad relationships, deliberate choice, infectious disease, mental disorders, neurological disorders or circumstances of employment or situation (see castaway).

I count my rides with friends high on my list of important things in my life. If you are not a mountain biker I doubt you will understand the bonds you can form while toiling up a rather ling climb, or the freedom you feel on a adrenalin pumping descent. The bonds go beyond the normal banter of friends, and the curtsy you extend to an acquaintance. It’s important to realize the importance of a ride with friends, and why it makes this sport so important to so many people. But a group ride is not always what you need. Sometimes you need to be alone.

I try to ride more often than not. Many of my rides are accompanied by friends and co workers. It’s something I love to share. But sometimes I need to go at it alone. In the peace and quiet of my own mind. There is something about the ticking of the freehub, and the sound of my tires over loam and roots. The solitude frees me to think, get lost in my own mind and, de compress. This kind of solitude was not inflicted by a bad relationship, infectious disease, or a neurological disorder. It is a self imposed solitude. On the loan rides, I always seem to see more colors, and the air almost smells sweeter. I take the time to look at this creation and really appreciate what I have been given as a playground. Toiling up a long climb. I appreciate the silence and I can focus on my task as I try to beat my personal best. And shredding down the ling descent is not rushed, I can take the time and enjoy the flow. I don’t have to show off or try and hot dog down the mountain. Just get in the grove and enjoy the simple harmony of 2 wheels on dirt.

The solitude of a ride alone is something I had to grow to enjoy. I think it is an important part of a healthy life in the saddle. We all need a little time to unwind, and re connect with the most primal aspects of a ride. I still need my friends, to ride with me. In fact mountain biking would be lost to me without them. The peace of a ride alone will always be an important part of my life. It’s my hard line connection to the sport I love. It keeps my mind fresh, and my rides with meaning. Sometimes I need the solitude just to compete with myself. So pick up that bike, and go out alone. Spend that time with yourself and re connect.

I will leave this blog in the words of one of the greatest authors in the world. Dr seuss.

“I’m afraid that some times you’ll play lonely games too. Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you. Dr Seuss”

Fear

False evidence appearing real. Or fear. It’s one of those emotions that rules us completely if we let it. If allowed to creep in, fear can turn a great day into your worst nightmare and a seasoned rider into a crybaby in baggies. Without a firm grip, you will most certainly slip into your own head. The only way to battle fear is with confidence.

In my limited experience I have had a lot of confidence with my bike skills. When fear creeps in, all I have to do is pull it out and munch on it like a leftover confidence burrito. But lately fear seems to be a battle I could not overcome. How it crept in, I do not know. But it left a scar on my memory that was near impossible to heal. It was long jagged and was shaped like the road gap at Snowshoe. That gap had eluded me for going on 3 years this summer. Every chance I was given to heal that wound, was met with a fresh pink scar even bigger than the last. My mental block was growing and I had no idea how to stop it. I layed in bed many nights thinking about how it would go down. In my dream, cheers, ticker tape and friends lifting me on their shoulders concluded my successful landing on the dirt. Standing on the lip and looking down on the lander made me laugh as I thought back on that silly dream. Where had my confidence gone? The burrito wasn’t helping, it was giving me heartburn. I am usually the guy that guinea pig's this type of stuff. Every trip down the mountain took me past that jump. And every time I planned on hitting it, only to chicken out at the last second.

My breakthrough came when I was following some friends down the mountain. Three riders that had not ever been to Snowshoe. And before that day had never been on a DH bike. How could I let myself be defeated that easy. How did they master the fear? Then it hit me like a Dio song at the karaoke bar. They were having fun. I had been focused on it, sweating it. I needed to loosen up and relax. “False evidence appearing real”. What is the worst thing that could happen? I was on my TAKA, a bike designed for this. It had carried me down the mountain all day with not a single fail yet. I have the skills, I have done bigger features than this. And most importantly I am here to have fun, not worry about one jump on a trail I have rode 100 times. I just need to break that burrito out of the tin foil wrapper take a big bite and get my confidence back.

On the next trip down the mountain I sent it off the big road gap. The fear was shed. My mental block was gone, and the wound was healed. New skin grew over the spot where once my mind was ripped wide open. I don’t think my three fellow riders, knew what they did for me. But they did it in a big way. I have since tried to look at why fear grips me with some things and not others. It almost always starts with doubt in myself. If I didn’t say that then I would be lying. And if you have not felt it, then you are lying to yourself. I think this is something that comes natural to all us 2 wheeled freaks. Road, XC,DH it does not matter. Fear is a battle we will face from time to time. But a battle we must win if we want to grow. So fill up your confidence tanks. It may be a ride with friends, finally cleaning that climb you have been working on, or simply adding a new part. Save it up for those days fear comes calling, Take a bite and move on.

My addictions.....

When did I get so addicted? Was it that summer at camp? Nah. What about that time I got lost and bonked hard 15 miles from my car? Nope. Could it have been that time I jumped the drainage ditch? Addiction is a nasty to word to most. Alcohol addiction, drug addiction I never had those problems. I got hooked on something different. I have been addicted for the last 10 years, and maybe longer than that now that I think about it. It was never a steady addiction. It would come and go through the years like the season changes. So when did I start this strung out bender? As early as I can remember it started with a old BMX

Insert Wayne’s world flashback

I loved to ride around my neighborhood, and cause trouble with the other hooligans. I had the mandatory BMX bike, no helmet and an attitude. It was great for a while. Then I saw “Gleaming The Cube” with Christian Slater and all thoughts turned to skateboarding. My Bike slowly started it’s long descent into bike heaven. It’s bearing seized, the chrome bits flaked and rusted, and before I could rescue it from it’s slow painful death I had to put it out of it’s misery. Sure the bike had given me some nasty scrapes, numerous pedal bites and a scar from that time I tried to jump the drainage ditch. But that BMX bike and I had some really good memories. Pedaling around the hood, spontaneous ring and runs, oh and that time I got the scar jumping over the drainage ditch.

After the death of my trusty BMX I was burned. The relationships I tried to form with other bikes were not the same. Something was missing. I dabbled in different sports and activities until I got my first mountain bike. A 1999 Gary Fisher Tassajara. It was to small for me, the rim breaks were shot, and it creaked every time I turned the old pedals attached to the creaky BB. It needed a lot of TLC but I was addicted. I rode it everywhere. I took it with me to summer camp, the beach, and anywhere I could find a road or a trail to ride on. That old Tassajara gave me a more than a good time. It started the addiction that I now have today.

I did not know how addicted I would get until I started working at my current job, some years later. Wilderness Adventure was the best thing that could have happened to me at that time in my life. My bike was not getting ridden much. I had put on a tiny bit of weight. “And by tiny, I mean like 50lbs” and I was jaded by the real world. My new job offered me the lifestyle I needed to get fully addicted. I was now in an environment that promoted bikes, working on bikes and teaching people about bikes. I was hooked. And I needed more. Enter my now best friend. I did not know what being obsessed with bikes meant until I met Jake. Maybe obsessed is the wrong word. It was creepy, and strange. But for some reason I wanted to be that guy too. I dragged my wounded Tassajara to Jake so he could work on it. I was spending most of my paychecks to replace everything on a bike that needed to be put out to pasture. Before long I was looking at new bikes and flashy new parts. My own obsession had begun.

50 some pounds lighter and more years that I want to think about later, here I am. My old BMX has been long gone, and the only thing left of my tassajara is the vintage frame on the wall. I am sure the BMX has made it’s way into the worlds of many other kids in various forms. Born again after being melted down for scrap. I hope at least a small part made it back to a bike, or a part of a bike. I have owned many bikes since. Some I have loved, and some I have loathed. I am more obsessed than ever. My friends and relatives think I borders on creepy and strange, but still obsessed. Airborne has allowed me a new way to be obsessed. Not only can I be obsessed with my bike, and what I do to it. But now I am privy to a world I never dreamed. It’s the drug I crave, on a daily basis, and there are no pesky side effects like death to worry about. Us two wheeled junkies from bonds with the machines of our addiction, Like a John Wayne and Dollar or The Loan Ranger and Tonto. The addiction is not only a personal one. It can spread to a group. Drinking the MTB Kool-Aid gets you membership to a support group for your addiction, scars that will bring back fond memories and a revolving need to be out on the trails.

The bike holds great memories of good times with my best friends. The rides that went wrong or the ones that never seemed to end. It shapes my future in the form of trips, and what part I need next. It also quite possibly saved my life. Getting my lard butt out of the easy chair and onto the saddle. It’s the corner stone that some of my best friendships and relationships are built. I have no plans on quitting my drug of choice any time soon. I am sure there will be a time I need to wean myself off it. For now I plan on getting strung out on my bike as much as I can. The addiction grows stronger every time I throw a leg over my 26” delivery system. Now where did I put my helmet?

Oh where is my toothbrush

Mountain Bike Riders are a strange breed. We are, thrill seekers, always looking for a good time and something to remember. Sometimes the most memorable trips are the one’s that begin with something forgotten. Your multi tool, patch kit, spare tube. it can say a lot about the type of rider by what you carry. Take myself for example. I carry a pack full useless stuff ! I came to this realization today, when I searched through my bag on a mission to find my toothbrush.

Many Riders choose not to use any bag. If they do, they use a under the seat type o deal. XC or DH days, I bring my trusty Dakine Nomad. Perfect for all occasions! Please don’t judge my bag by the full face straps on the back. Here is what I have in my sack. I have not added or taken anything out. this list was created real time as I extracted the entrails of my bag.

• Gorilla Pod “flexy Cam mount”
• 1 pair Smith sunglasses and bag
• SRAM 9speed powerlink
• Misc metric bolts (3)
• 1 Quarter “25 cents”
• 4 -2.5” wood screws. “left over from building a trail feature”
• 5-16 penny nails “same as above”
• Demon Dirt Hanky
• 2 beverage coozies “one for me and one to share!”
• Shock pump
• 2 patch kits “ one park tool and one G.I.
• Small adjustable wrench
• 2.1-2.35 kenda tube
• 2 tire levers
• 14” section of rubber tubing. “your guess is as good as mine”
• Topeak Mountain Morph pump “the best mobile pump ever”
• 5 large zip ties
• some Luna chews and camelback elixir tabs
• Park tool MTB-3 multi tool
• A ball cap. SRAM or STIHL
• Also My toothbrush which I did find

I will sub in and out some other fun bits depending on season, bike, and length of ride. On longer riders I will add a small first aid kit, and more food. As a Flight Crew Member I always try and bring my GoPro, memory cards and 1 or 2 small cams. Every ride is different and every ride can tell a story if you take the time to capture it. When weather may be a factor I have a number of different rain shells and layers I may bring. Like I said this is no definitive list. It happens to be what was in my bag right now. Every riders pack is unique. They will range in size, and preparedness. Some bags may have the tools to fix any mechanical on any trail. Some have the tools to keep you alive for days. And some very lucky packs, will hold the tools to fight tooth decay, and the gum disease known as gingivitis.

Want to know more about what other riders take along in their bags? Check my friend and fellow Airborne Flight Crew Member Jerry Hazard. Click me and I will take you to Jerry's Bag. Better Yet, if you have something strange or useful please let me know about it and why you use it.

"I was built for this"

So there I was. Doing the hike a bike thing up a steep shoot or crumbling shale. The Appalachian mountains are the oldest in the world, and while they are smoothed by time and weather they still have so many surprises and I am constantly blown away that I live in an outdoorsman’s playground like this. On this day I was not marveling in the slow beauty of the mountains though, oh no. I was hiking to the top of a favorite local trail. Full DH gear including baggies, long sleeved jersey (stupid idea) and backpack with a small shops worth of tools and all my camera gear. I had planned the best video ever! I was going to conquer the mountain, shred to the bottom, and get all the video I needed for an epic video. As a part of the Flight Crew I work to produce video’s for Airborne. I try and showcase the bikes that I ride and why I love them. Sometimes it can be a difficult job. But not today-- I had a plan!
I remember thinking back to that morning when my wife told me to be careful and drink lots of water because it is going to be hot. Hot! PHHHSSSS….whatever! I work outside! I do this for a living! I can handle pushing my bike up a hill and riding down, and smiling for the camera. “I was built for this”. I think those were my exact words. Still pushing I could have kicked myself. She was right and it was hot. Not desert hot. It was humid, slimy, wet hot. The kind of hot that makes you feel like you will never cool down again. No breeze, no relief. I should have turned back when I found the tear in my camelback but I couldn’t! I felt ok! I could beat the heat! Plus I have some emergency duct tape to fix the tear so it will be fine. If it leaks a bit that’s ok. “ I was built for this!”
Thinking about it made me thirsty, and a few sips later my water is gone…….wait a sec, GONE? No way. Yes way. The tear that I saw was only a small sign of the larger problem. Well that sucks. Keep pushing. “I was built for this.” I am about half way to the top, and I decide to take a breather on the side of the trail. “I hope this is not one of those days,” I think to myself. You know the days I am talking about. Nothing seems to work right. It usually happens when you have been looking forward to a ride for a long time. You get everything packed the night before and head out only to remember once you arrive you forgot your clipless shoes. NO, I was not going to let that happen. It’s ok, so I am out of water. So what! “ I was built for..……air conditioning” I get my sorry butt up and keep trudging to the top. This is important I remind myself. I decide to get my mind off the sorry state I am in. I need to think about how I want to set my shots up. I start feeling better about myself, I can see the video in my mind, I can hear the music. “Jeez it’s hot, what was I thinking about again?” The Airborne guys will understand. Maybe I should cut my losses and head down. “Jerry Hazard would not give up.” I swear I hear a tiny voice say. Uhh I am going to keep moving. I am nearly there. A long time later I finally drag my sorry carcass to the top of the mountain. 1,100 ft higher than I started my day.
Man my head hurts, what is wrong with me? Yep the dreaded “BONK”. If you are a mountain bike rider you know what I am talking about. I decide the prudent thing to do it to rest re coupe and plan my shots. “What were my shots again” I better get the GoPro out and start getting it ready. “what does it mean when the battery light flashes? UHHHHH Ok I need to take stock of my situation. No water, my head is pounding like a fat kids hand, while waiting for cake. And my GoPro has no batteries. I can still make this work with my little hand held HD and my point and shoot cam. I go on with this plan until I turn the point and shoot cam on. I find this message waiting for me “Memory Card Error”. For the love of Pete! Ok Dan breathe, I count backwards from 25 and try to calm down. I had fallen into the bonk trap. Once a Bonk has a hold of you it is hard to snap out of it. I think the bonk and that Murphy guy with the law are in cahoots.
What am I going to do? “Ride”. Now, I am not crazy, but I swear I heard a tiny voice in the back of my mind say it. You know what? The voice is right! I am not going to let all that ruin what I planned to be an amazing ride. I look down at my bike. Three quarters of my ride has been spent pushing up a mountain to this moment. All I have done so far is piss and moan about my bad luck. I forgot why I was out here to begin with. My trusty tin donkey was ready to ride, and I had not even thrown a leg over it yet. I was ready to quit before I even started. One short sweet hour later I am at the bottom. I got all my shots, I rode all my lines perfectly, the trail was in the best condition I have seen it in a long time, my headache is gone, and I feel like a million bucks! “What happened there?” I say aloud to my TAKA.
Sometimes I think we put too much into the ride. We plan and plan. We create a ride in our heads before we even hit the dirt. We lose sight of the reason we spend loads of hard earned coin on circles to turn circles. I was out for all the wrong reasons that day. We all have a ride like that sometime. I think we all need that ride to set us straight. I sure as heck needed this one. It puts things into perspective and reminds us that the ride does not have to be perfect to be a ride to remember. Even though I am dehydrated, sweaty and starving I leave the trails a much happier man. It’s funny how things happen. “I was made for this!”