MEATengines

Monday Musings No.9 – The Old Way

My trail multi-tool, a Shapeshifter Timberwolf, is happy, and heavy on my shoulder as I carefully pick my way out of the forest. I’m tired. Not so much from the hiking or any trail work I’ve accomplished, but it was already a long day of wrenching and rearing. 

{And, yes, I would love some cheese with my whine. I’m quite partial to COWS Appletree Smoked Cheddar, from PEI, served with apple slices.}

There are just a few janky steps to go on the old-school Shore-line I’m hiking out. So, of course, it’s here that I slip a foot on a greasy root, narrowly catching myself while cursing my clumsiness. I drop the tool and as I pick it up I can’t help but smile as my helmet light reflects off the scratched-up steel head. Like paint jobs on bikes, before various protective films became popular, I love when objects bear witness to their usage. 

In a perfect mood, singing quietly to myself, I transition to the golden silk of the modern flow trail that will deliver me to my waiting car and it’s here in the flatter and more open forest that I notice a light in the distance winding its way towards me. Vite. Très vite. I know it’s a pedal-assisted rocket rig long before I hear it. I step off the trail and shield my headlamp with one hand. He’s hauling and our interaction is limited to “hey” and “hey” as he rips by in a whir. 

In the absence of relative photos, you can't go wrong with stumps‽ This one is totally stunned by your effort on the climb!
In the absence of relative photos, you can’t go wrong with stumps‽ This one is totally stunned by your effort on the climb!

It’s a clear night, warm for January, and relatively bright for it being well after dark. Beautiful really. It will come as no surprise then, that a minute later, more lights are approaching. Slower, but still fast. It’s either a couple of XC-fit ‘Shore Country’ riders taking their Spur-like bikes for a nighttime hammer-fest or a pair of motor-assisted pedalers.

Standing aside again, I can recognize from their easy banter that the rigs are bicyclesque baby BroPeds. Whispering along with TQ motors sporting 50Nm of torque hidden behind their chainrings and batteries in down tubes no bigger than most any new pedal-bike‘s storage box. 

The pilots are either distracted or I’m too proficient at covering my light. Either way when their full-bright lights reflect off my vest they seem properly startled that I’m standing there. 

”WOAH!” 

“Sorry to scare you!” 

Beware the old ones. They seek to corrupt you as you rest under their gaze.

I continue my march. Suddenly, horribly, I {and every creature in the forest for a square kilometer} can hear the next fellow approaching in the distance before I see his light. His eeb is hauling along, full juice. FAST. But, from the sounds being discharged in my direction, it’s either in the throes of death or it already passed into the great pedaling purgatory beyond and has come back to haunt its torturer. He rounds the corner with an all-sound statement, the gnashing metal-on-metal mewling of mutually assured component carnage.

He floats me an embarrassed look and through the eldritch cacophony of creaking, I hear him say, “I guess you know why I ride alone at night!?” We laugh but my professional persnicketiness pries my mouth open and I find myself politely propounding that he sort out the issue ASAP and self-stock some spare parts for common, proprietary, wear items. We’ll probably know the fate of Dyname in a couple or few months, but on a rig that could become unsellable, it’s always better to invest in a few spares to keep it running. 

This is one of my favourites. You can just tell it uses the word "gosh" regularly in conversation.
This is one of my favourites. You can just tell it uses the word “gosh” regularly in conversation.

And with that, I’m opening the door to my car. It’s 2025, and, while I’ve come close, it’s the first time I recall being in the forest, and seeing multiple folks piloting bikes, and not a single one of them was doing it the old way. 

I’ve discovered a certain indifference to the change, anchored in the 50,000:1 ride club, but it still had me musing that on such a beauty night none of the four riders I came across was churning to earn on a pedal-bike. Never mind a total lack of single-speeds (rigid or otherwise), rigid bikes, or even hardtails. There wasn’t even a single boutique carbon sag wagon. 

And that certainly has me musing. 

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