Tag: mountain bike

Bonking (also known as Metabolic Acidosis)

 

Mountain biking in Colorado
Mountain biking in the Tarryall Mountains

Ryan had never bonked before, at least in the metabolic shock/ overexertion sense of the word. When he started to bumble around and lose more and more of his edge, I knew that something was up and figured that’s what had happened. Not realizing what was going on, he kept on trying to mountain bike further up the Colorado Trail, although with diminishing returns. The big patches of snow that remained on the trail, even though it was June, were probably a good thing since they ultimately turned us all around. His disrupted mental and physical state likely made the retreat more palatable to the 13-year-old, since he wasn’t one to be prone to turn around before his goal was reached.

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The Mountain Bike Race

A muddy mountain bike racer

The race is on.

Spin the pedals,
Faster, faster.
Time is of the essence.

Reach the forest first,
Gotta make them chase.
Hide the pain,
That’s on my face.

Take the inside lines,
Make passing tight,
No time for crashes,
Show no fright.

Spin the pedals,
Faster, faster.
Time is of the essence.

Push the pace,
Stay in the lead.
Heart is pounding,
Keep up my speed.

I cannot crack.
Must maintain edge.
See big root,
And watch for the ledge.

Spin the pedals,
Faster, faster.
Time is of the essence.

It’s okay to breathe loudly.
Ride the rut.
Must miss the tree,
Can’t feel my butt.

Getting thirsty,
And hungry, too.
Now, I creep,
Before, I flew.

Spin the pedals,
Faster, faster.
Time is of the essence.

I hate to ride,
I’m sure I do.
These times of pain,
Are surely through.

But then,

I cross the finish line,
And the race is done.
I love my bike,
I had so much fun.

Audio Version:

Rider in a mountain bike race in Moab

The Feel of the Trail

Colorado Single Track

Rolling,
Flowing,
Spinning,
Floating.

Down,
Across,
Up,
Over.

Gripping,
Braking,
Screaming,
Breathing.

Squeeze,
Push,
Lean,
Feel.

Gasping,
Hacking,
Hurting,
Snorting.

Relax,
Look,
Focus,
Squeal.

Shifting,
Laughing,
Weaving,
Grinning.

Hot,
Cold,
Thirsty,
Hungry,

Guessing,
Feeling,
Hoping,
And always thinking.

Audio Version: 

 

Downhill

Mountain Biking

Mountain biking down a hill
Downhill

There’s a limit to the number of times your bike pedals will turn in your lifetime.
So, make them count.

Whoosh,
Damp and soft.
Fresh,
Smooth and fast.

Rolling,
Clean and free.
Feeling,
Strong and loose.

Leaves,
Yellow or red.
Trees,
Aspens, oaks, and pines.

Climb,
Up and onward.
Time,
Grinding and frozen.

Rocks,
Somehow over the top.
Ledges
That make you pucker.

Spin,
Faster, not harder.
Win,
Whatever that is.

Down,
Flowing and momentum.
Sound,
Silent, but alive.

Effort,
Easy or intense.
Curves,
Sweeping and weaving,

Turns,
Expect the unexpected.
Feel the trail
With your mind.

Adrenaline, fatigue, happy, and sad.
Confident, regret, proud, and glad.
Satisfied, worried, joy, and mad.

The destination– often unknown.
But no matter,
Cause the best rides never end.

Audio Version:

Riding Through the Aspens

The Broken Handlebar

Vail Race 012
Riding Downhill

I was going downhill, and the trail flowed well. The section of the Colorado Trail we were mountain biking on drops slowly and steadily for miles as it winds its way down the Craig Creek drainage. It’s a fast, fun, and effortless ride that I’ve done many times before. Sure, there are some obstacles along the way, such as rocks in unfortunate places, encroaching Potentilla bushes, and washed-out ruts. But the only significantly tricky spots occur where small creeks, thick with willows, come in from the sides.

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Lost and Found on the Silver Trail

“You’re not lost, if you don’t care where you are.”

Mountain biking the Silver Trail

At this point, we were some 20 miles from the last little outpost of a town we’d been through. But theoretically, at least, we were about to come to another. Jerry had the best available maps of the area loaded onto his GPS. But it only told us where we were relative to the data it was loaded with. The adage “garbage in, garbage out” came to mind, and soon after, the vision of a web page that said “no data available.”

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The 24 Hours of Moab

Interesting events late at night during a 24 Hour mountain bike race.

A dirt road via mountain bike
Mountain biking

Things got progressively weirder as the Utah mountain bike race, known as the 24 Hours of Moab, continued. It was an event where riders, in teams ranging in size from single individuals to 8, rode as many laps as possible within 24 hours. I was doing it solo, which, among other things, created some intriguing late-night moments. At some point in the middle of the night, two tandem bikes with riders dressed as frogs rode in from a direction that had nothing to do with the racecourse. During the previous lap, I’d been concerned when another racer didn’t correctly yield the trail on a long climb. But by the time the frog thing happened, things like that were no longer bothering me. I was just pleased to see the frogs stopped and waiting off to the side of the trail for me to pass before continuing. From that moment on, as I rode up toward the crest of that hill each lap, I kept looking for the frog riders and continued to be concerned they might be riding the same section of trail as I was. I could only hope that if so, they’d at least be going in the same counterclockwise direction as everyone else.

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Mountain Biking The Trail of Death

An interesting turn of events while mountain biking some Copper Canyon singletrack.

The Trail of Death
Afterward, we began to call it the Trail of Death.

For the longest time, Batopilas, Mexico, was connected to the small town of Cerro Colorado by just a little bit of dirt road and seven or so miles of trail, just barely wide enough for local burro traffic. Then, a few years back, that same dirt road was bulldozed all the way into that little Copper Canyon town. At that point, most of the old trail had been “improved” for vehicle use, but the last mile remained untouched, where the road took a more direct route.

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