The Threshold

I'm so sick! My brain is fighting with my body. I wanna puke but my pride won't allow it. I'm the middle rider in a group of three: Crash is leading us through our typical Wednesday ride around Paradise Valley, in the dark. His 16 year old son, Panic is riding at his best just behind me. He is so close that his front tire periodically roughs up my back tire. It's a sharp reminder to keep pedaling despite my desire to stop and purge my last three meals all at once. I can't stop, I mustn't. If I do, I've convinced myself, that I will never get better, I will never improve. 

I'm not sick in the sense that I have a cold or flu or anything like that. No. My body is revolting, kicking and screaming against the harsh task master of extreme exertion. We're cranking our bikes through one of the most difficult and physically punishing sections at Paradise - "Two Trees". It's dark, wet, and everything is covered with sloppy mud and ice. I can taste it in my mouth, I'm covered in it. 

I've ridden this section of trail dozens of times yet somehow it never seems to get easier. Tonight it seems particularly grueling. Lactic acid crashes through my legs like a hurricane. My back aches and my hands would probably hurt if they weren't so numb from the cold, wet air. That cold air, by the way, I can't get enough of it. I'm breathless and it feels like I'm wrapped tightly into a straightjacket. I bite and gobble the air. My heart is red-lining and it feels like it's teetering on the edge of exploding. 

And then it happens. Almost like clockwork. Usually some time between 35 and 45 minutes into a ride I pass through the doorway. I cross the threshold. It's a transcendence of sorts. I reach a point when the storm subsides, my breathing calms and my heart settles into a steady cadence. It feels like this massive weight is lifted from my body. 

It's an odd feeling because it was only moments earlier that I wanted to be put out of my misery and now I am lifted. I don't know if it's a mental breakthrough or a physical one but I find a renewed energy and determination to push myself. Lee's son who was just hot on my trail is now 10 feet back, then 20. And now that I've noticed it, I expect it. I drag myself along knowing that I will eventually hit the tipping point and my energy will gush out the other side. Not that it diminishes the crushing pressure that leads up to that moment but now I have hope. And sometimes that's all I need to keep myself from puking. 

Love Letter to the Pacific Northwest

Skookum Flats draped with moss

Paradise shrouded in fog

Greg "Caution" approaching the mushroom stump at Duthie

Winter in the Pacific Northwest is cold and wet. It's continuously moist climate has it's drawbacks and it's many detractors and haters. Not me though because unlike any other region in America it also stays green year-round. Not sparsely green either. Trees that are usually dense with leaves most of the year; alder, ash, birch, and maples drop their vibrant plumage to reveal that their trunks and branches are not bare and twisted bones but are flowing arms elegantly draped in moss, peppered with lichen, and flaunting the most extraordinary array of colorful mushrooms. 

Early Saturday morning we stood in my driveway chatting and loading our bike gear. The aluminum frame of my bike is cold to the touch. It's just above freezing at 7:30 AM and I think about putting my gloves on and how that might feel; much better than frigid metal of course. Greg breaks my train of thought with a blunt observation: "Thick fog this morning". It sure was, I hadn't given it much attention until then. I paused and looked around to notice that we were socked in. The sky, or more accurately the space above us was an endless fluff of light grey dog-toy stuffing, yanked out and scattered to every horizon. It floated and hung in the air and it wrapped itself around pine trees, connected eaves between houses and obscured lamp post tops.

I felt the smile on my face moments after the subconscious, involuntary reaction put it there. I am smiling, kind of smirking actually because I love it here and I know that most people don't, they can't stand the grey and I'm okay with that. They long for July when it's hot and sunny whereas I'm thankful that the heat only lasts a few short weeks. And so I soak it all in. I inhale deeply; the cold damp air fills my lungs and surrounds my heart with the same blanket of fog that surrounds the trees. I am energized by it, lifted by it, strengthened and inspired by it. 

Some of my close friends and family have referred to me as a die-hard mountain biker, or hard-core, or some other similar moniker meant to describe my tendency to head off into the forest on my bike in spite of the sun-less weather. They are almost right. I do enjoy mountain biking and all the side-effects that bubble up because I'm active. I can't deny that riding twice a week improves my physical health and mental well-being. I have more energy and it gives me yet another great item to add to my list of wonderful things in my life. 

The truth is, I simply love living in the Pacific Northwest and mountain biking has been the best way for me to enjoy it. I get to go out with my close friends that not only share my passion for biking but also share my love of this region. Sometimes getting out and riding with my friends ends up not being at all about riding but more about the camaraderie, the shared experience, the common passion and sometimes it feels like we share a secret that no one else knows about or understands. And so it is. As I give our bikes a final once-over before we head off to hit another favorite trail, I catch a glimpse of Greg: he's smirking. 

Minimalist

The 1st fender I broke - and "trail-fixed"

The last fender I'll break

I broke another one. I think this is my fourth busted fender and it’s the second one in under a week’s time. Only this one belonged to Caution (Greg). I borrowed his because I hadn’t the time to go buy a replacement and I wanted to use something for our wet and nasty ride last Wednesday night. I used it again this Saturday morning and split it in two on the first run. Thankfully none of them shattered due to a crash on my part. These types of fenders are mounted to the front shock and so they take a great deal of abuse during any given ride. If the shocks compress to their full limit, usually about 6 inches, they top out and the tire hits the fender with enough force to bust it in half. This normally doesn’t happen but speed combined with a high drop-off will max out the forks. Snap-o!

Spending 30 bucks on a new fender isn’t that big of a deal. But the frequency is what’s got me thinking. It obviously makes no sense to buy a fender after every other ride. The fenders I buy are considered some of the best so there’s no question of quality. There are several different styles of fenders, some mount to the frame, some to the bottom of the head tube (my style), and others mount to the shock chambers. Each have their own pros and cons and each of them keeps some of the mud flung from the front tire out of my mouth. Yeah, I said some.

I’ve been using fenders for a long time and I’ve ridden in nearly every conceivable weather condition. I almost always put fenders on because even in the peak of summer there always seems to be some sort of wet muck on the trail…even if it’s just horse apples. And the fenders are light and unobtrusive so they’re imperceptible. Here’s the thing though, I don’t think they make any difference.

Ok, maybe a little bit of a difference but if I’m riding in the rain, I’m going to get wet – with or without fenders. If the trails are sloppy muddy, I’m going get muddy – with or without fenders. And somehow I end up riding close behind someone just as they rake through a fresh pile of horse crap, which doesn’t even come close to getting captured by my fenders.

So why do I ever bother with some of this stuff? Because that’s what everyone else does. Guys in the magazines use fenders. My local bike shop has a whole wall dedicated to fenders, all shapes and sizes. I’ve been using them because it’s been one of those “why not?” things. But now I’m asking, why should I? It doesn’t seem to make any real difference, not how or when I ride anyway. It’s one less thing (two, actually) to put in my bike box for a trip, one less thing to put on and take off every time I ride, it’s one less thing to break and one less thing to spend money on. So screw it, I’m going fender-less. I’m stripping things down to the bare essentials. Now I’m thinking, what else can I get rid of? Who needs all that extra crap anyway. What good is it? Bring on the mud ya slimy bastards!!!

No is easy

Saying "no" is easy. Doing nothing is easy. Excuses and rationalizations for not doing something are a dime-a-dozen. It's easy to say I'm too tired or it's too cold or whatever. When ice covers the front yard the last thing anyone thinks of doing is going for a bike ride. Which is precisely why I do. It builds character and confidence. Makes me happy? Sounds weird but yeah, it does take the edge off to know that I'm doing something that very few would even consider. Some people also call that crazy. Whatever.

Winter in the Northwest is mild compared to many places around the world but we still get nasty cold temperatures, snow, ice and frost. It would be easy this time of year to sit inside on the couch and hide under a blanket. I would love to eat cookies and get fat, lazy and complacent. But that's not what I'm about. I'm on a mission. I have something to prove and something to fix. Resting on the couch and watching Top Chef ain't gonna cut through shit, sorry. 

Paradise Valley is covered in ice and not your regular run of the mill ice, this is Ice Palace ice. Slippery, glossy, unforgiving, what-the-hell-are-you-thinking ice. I let the air out of my tires for better traction and nature laughs at me. Ha! There's no adjustment or compensation I can make to my bike or my riding style that makes it easier to ride on ice. The ground is frozen solid, no give at all. Cover that with a sheet of ice and thats what we have, sort of. I mean what's a difficult situation, or nearly unrideable situation that couldn't use an extra dose of wtf impossibility sprinkled over the top. 

Well leave it to me. Look at the picture above: that's Lee (Crash) on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Everything is frozen solid and ice covers everything. Difficult riding conditions? Hell yes. Nearly impossible. So what. Three days after this picture was taken we went back to Paradise to ride....at night....while it was raining. Yeah that's right, we ARE bat shit crazy. But we had the best time. Because we knew that no one else was willing to do it. It was just the two of us out there in the freezing rain. 

When I do something that I know others aren't willing to do it changes me, little by little, into the man I want to be. Is it hard? Yes. Would it be easier to not do it? Yes. Would I be a better man if I stayed home? No. I'm not looking for easy because I know it's a whisper of a dream, it doesn't exist. The only path to healing is through pain. Anyone that says differently is trying to sell you something. Go and do. Stop saying NO.

Bone Chill

Many of my regular readers have asked why I have been silent for a couple weeks. Truth is that I have been riding and writing however last weekend I got struck down with the flu. I have three incomplete entries that are now sitting stagnate waiting for me to recover. 

For the past week I have been slowly melting into my couch, coughing, sneezing and trying to manage my manic body temperature that hopped between freezing and burning like a jack rabbit. 

I am on the mend, slowly but surely.  

I Broke It

Lee and I rode Paradise Valley on Wednesday night. We each fought the overwhelming urge to sit on the couch and watch TV; so easy to do this time of year. Not only does it get dark around 4:30 but rain has been falling off and on for several weeks and so it came as no surprise that it started to rain again around noon on Wednesday. Yuck. Oh yeah, and it’s cold. These are not the most encouraging conditions to jump on a bike and go for a ride: wet, cold, and dark. 

At the trail head we shuffled around, getting our gear on and chatting about the day as the rain came down. Helmet, pads, gloves, fenders all being put on wet. As if we needed any more of a deterrent, the rain pounded harder to test our resolve. Once you’re wet, well, you’re wet. We saddled up and off into the black forest we rode.

When everything is soaked with water riding becomes more about keeping in contact with the bike and less about getting fast section times. My grip is tighter because my gloves and grips are wet and slippery. My feet are tense because my shoes and pedals are covered in muck. My glasses are fogged by the mixture of body heat, dripping rain and sweat. Not that it matters because it’s foggy and it’s cold enough to see my breath so each time I exhale I push out a cloud of steam in front of me that obscures my already diminished vision.

It was under these conditions that I broke it. For the first time I broke a small piece of Paradise. All the conditions were awful and I felt sapped and unmotivated; being cold, wet and shrouded in darkness does that. Somehow, I managed to set a personal best on one section of single track, Cascara is about a half mile of up/down, twisty-tight trail with plenty of roots and obstacles. I shouldn’t have even come close to my best time and yet I beat it and by a respectable margin. This is the kind of thing that keeps me out there, keeps me going, and keeps me interested. Not because I’m looking to get record breaking times but because even though I didn’t “feel” like riding I did it anyway and I proved to myself that I can still produce excellent results despite having the odds stacked against me.

True to life, my exuberance was short-lived. About 30 minutes later I barreled in to a corner covered in slimy roots and my front tire gave way. My bike slammed flat to the trail and I lurched sideways against a dead tree stump about as round as my thigh. I broke the top two feet of the decayed tree off with my ribcage. It knocked the wind out of my body but not my spirit. I picked up my bike and kept riding, needless to say, I did not break any time records after that. Paradise giveth and Paradise taketh away.



Flawless

A master Japanese potter will deliberately mark his beautiful and delicate masterpiece with a single blemish. They have a word for this, I am sure but I do not know what it is. Not the point. The point is everything is flawed either by accident or by design, incidental or deliberate, natural or man-made. We know this deep in our bones and yet somehow we strive for perfection. Hopelessly in search of the flawless. So it should not come as a surprise when the simple and humble bike breaks or stops working. They do though and usually at the worst time. 

My heart is pounding hard, I can feel it deep in my jawbone. I normally try to breathe through my nose mostly but not now, I am sucking in all the oxygen I can get. My mouth is wide open and I am eating the air and swallowing hard. Legs are pumping and pushing the bike crank round and round, one agonizing revolution after another. Up the hill I go, over slippery roots, uneven rocks, and loose, wet dirt. My quads are burning with lactic acid, the arches of my feet ache from attempting to hold my feet fast to the wet pedals. 

Every muscle and fiber of my body wants to tighten down and strain against the steep hill climb. I have to intentionally relax my upper body in times like this so I don't injure myself or make a tactical mistake and crash because I'm too tense. It's an odd feeling; pushing my lower body to it's bitter edge while simultaneously relaxing my upper body. Being careful not to relax so much that I lose my grip or steering control. My hands resting on the grips, lightly with all of my fingers relaxed and straight. 

I open my mouth wide to relax my jaw. It's at this moment, during my hardest effort that it breaks, my sweetness, my bike. Not break exactly but expose a flaw, show me a blemish, introduce me to its lack of perfection. It gave way under the force of my hard-charging legs. The pedal stopped resisting and just gave way completely with no fight, no nothing. All I got was the unmistakable sound of the gears changing and not finding it's home, anywhere. The chain jumped free and then jammed.

So there I lay, with my bike. Both of us flawed, broken, covered in mud, sweat, and alone. I'm still breathing heavy. Cussing, of course, looking up at the trees that just stand there looming over me like shocked bystanders at some horrible accident. They are no help to me. I'm not hurt but I am mad. How can I make this better; me, my bike, my riding, my living? How can I do this by myself, where has my master potter gone? How can I fix the flaws, overcome the mistakes, make the right choices? How?