Some Bicycle Thing I’m Stoked About, Only… After Friday
This morning I was streaming down one of my favourite Trails-For-All-Trails-For-Weather, half excitedly staying upright on my rig and half excitedly pre-writing the cold, and wet, open for this week’s SBTISAOAF. The thing is, Friday is a long³ way off, and I’m bound to be stoked by something else by then, so here’s a little MEATengines bonus add-on.
Aside from taking my grom to the rink, I spent a beautiful, sunny, Sunday working on projects. Mostly bicycle projects. I had the doors open, airing out our place. The fresh air was lightly spring scented, yes, in February, warm enough, and circulating nicely. Certainly, my little work area smells much less like our custom winter blend of hockey gear, rubber, bearing grease, and Dumonde Tech chain lube.
Anywho, overnight, the weather changed. I dressed for today’s forecast, but in the forest, the raindrops were heavy, the trees saturated, and the temperature was notably colder than expected. My gear was soaked through with a mix of sweat from my uphill effort, the globe-sized globules of rain, plus the rare puddle on a trail with an epic amount of volunteer effort in terms of drainage. By halfway down the descent, I was pulling on my third pair of gloves and my* emotional support jacket (ESJ).
*{The Clairebarian and I jokingly call this “‘Jaclyn’s’ Jacket” because she has worn it more times than I have, but I was certainly glad for it today.}
{Photo: MEATengines}
[Aside]
No, Vik & Claire, I can’t put fenders on the bike in question. It’s against the law. Okay, I stuck a little MuckyNutz flap on the fork, but don’t tell anyone. Even that feels wrong. And, for the record, it’s not even about other folks’ opinions; I have a full Mudrocker setup on the bicycle I’ll usually ride in a group.
I’ll write more about it on Monday. Someone will understand where I’m coming from. I’m certain of it.
[/Aside]
{Photo: MEATengines}
Pedaled-to-plunge, as I shivered and pumped my way down rocks, roots, armouring, and ladders, I was thinking about classic mountain biking, or, maybe, mountain bicycling, I should say. So, to be clear, not about shuttle riding, or lift-accessed riding, or hiking, or running, or trials, or moto, or anything to do with the open e-gate*.
Racing aside, mountain bicycling isn’t about earning anything; turns or otherwise. It’s about converting human effort and energy into forward motion, tired legs, fun, and adventure. Playing in the forest. Teasing a bit of fear, burning a bit of adrenaline. It’s meeting yourself.
As I pulled on my third pair of gloves and unstuffed 109 grams of Pearl Izumi ESJ to compensate for my be-bold-start-too-cold kit, I smiled broadly, thinking about a couple of the most miserable rides I’ve been on in my life. Exhausted. Hot. Cold. Soaked to the bone either with sweat or rain. Walking out after an injury or a mechanical, or because I was just done.
*{Bike media folks, the e-bike access debate was over, for most places, years ago now, and it’s unenforceable everywhere else, so if you’re still writing pieces to justify your riding/loving e-bikes, look at yourself, not at the rest of us.}
{Photo: JacAttack}
As I mixed wet and dry layers, my mind drifted to a couple of brutal rides where I had The Clairebarian along. Eating the “most delicious” {crappy, grocery-store-bought, day-old} strawberry strudels with Uncle Crash Test at the top of Bear Mtn after hiking’n’biking up in the wet & snow to the Super Bear trail head. Doing ‘the penguin’ dance with Penny on a Seymour day so cold that the heavy rain almost wasn’t rain.
My excuse is I was cold-smoked; there I was thinking that philosophically, we’re just out there rolling two wheels over ages-old questions of personal understanding. Can you know love if you’ve never experienced heartbreak? Can you know warmth if you’ve never been cold? Can you appreciate a really nice cup of coffee if you’ve never drunk re-heated gas-station swill?
You know what I mean? Can you know yourself if you haven’t suffered, shivered, sweated, swore, slammed, survived, or surrendered, and arrived? Stoked?
{Photos: Andrew’s Worst Ride of the Year, 2023}
And then I’m home with a massive pile of laundry that needs a pre-rinse, a one-speed bike that is making at least five unique grinding sounds, and aches in my left shoulder and left foot that I can’t explain. Exhausted despite the relatively short distance and time, with a need to slide this piece out of my brain before I hit my errands and grab the grom at school.
Holding a delicious, warm coffee, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Hair matted down with rain and sweat. An unshaven face thoroughly speckled with muck despite my helmet chin bar. A full-on look-at-what-the-cat’s-been-torturing-for-the-last-hour aura. A crooked, wry smile. And, a happy twinkle in my eye.
In other words, stoked on the results of the full mountain bicycling experience, even though it was a slippery, sweaty, and ultimately short ride.
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