Riding the Robert Frost Trail in Amherst

A quick, late-night photo report on a stellar ride today on single-track I'd not explored before: The Robert Frost  Trail, specifically the segment from behind Cherry Hill golf course in North Amherst to Atkins Reservoir, and back again.

I started out by climbing the long hill up the south side of the golf course, for which effort I was amply rewarded at the top.

Working my way past the back of the course and on to the RFT led me through much ruggedness. If you have full suspension, bring it. If you got no suspension (beyond a fat front tire) like me -- leave the Advil out for that night when you go to bed. You'll be aching here and there.

A long climb and some road crossing brought me to a narrow, off-camber passage up to Bridge Street, with a sparkling autumnal brook crashing down below. I walked much of this very narrow and rocky/rooty passage, and found that plenty challenging as it was. Note the thin trail at bottom right, squeezing past the tree.

Further on, and more road crossings down the trail, a picture-perfect bend in the river.

Finally -- for today, at least -- a lovely rolling section between Flat Hills and the Atkins Reservoir, worth the whole bouncy, steep trip to that point. The vista at the res was of the moody Octoberish variety .

On the return trip, I discovered a brief short cut that removed the worst of the dangerous, narrow, and stupid-steep stuff. Eight miles total, and almost 900 feet of climbing. You can bet I'll be back, as soon as possible.

In a only somewhat coincidental note, I've been reading a Frost collection this week, rediscovering the many faces of this master many think of as the avuncular rock-ribbed uncle, but who, in fact, knew as much of the dark as he did of the light that both make our home place so entrancing.

As I say to anyone who'll listen, people come from all around the world to see this area at this time of year. Get out there -- and take a few minutes at the vistas to let it soak in. 

O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

RF

Salsa Mukluk: Now With Half the Fat!

I dutifully turned in the Jamis Dragon 650b Pro I'd been testing for my LBS a few weeks ago, and, missing the relief that front suspension brought to my wrists and shoulders, decided to give a rather odd set-up for my Salsa Mukluk a second try.

A couple months ago, I dropped a few bucks on a duplicate brake rotor, installed it on the original fat front wheel, and threw the whole deal in the front fork. This set-up is commonly referred to as fat-front (though I've resolved to come up with a more euphonious moniker -- maybe fat-head?). I think it looks wicked cool.

At the time, I gave it a go on a local trail, and was so horrified by the extra weight and slower handling that I swapped it back out after only one ride. Later, after my interval with the nicely-suspended Dragon front end, I went back to my fully-rigid Muk, and the wrist and hand stiffness returned. So, I put the fat wheel back on the front, resolving to give it a good chance this time.

After a few rides, I started to really enjoy myself. I wasn't nearly as sore as I'd been when riding the 29er front wheel in the rigid aluminum fork, and, with the deal, I gained some of the handling benefits of suspension from the big, soft tire.

The fat tire rolls over tall roots and jagged rocks that would give my 29er front wheel pause -- literally. So, when climbing, I have way fewer dead stops from hitting obstacles at awkward moments, even when handling an off-camber switchback. On sharp turns and descents, I get to trust my front tire a tremendous amount; the stock Surly Nates are heavily lugged and, of course, wide enough to save my bacon in many situations where I feared for my precious neck.

Granted, a fat tire is never going to handle as smoothly as a suspension fork, but I have a thing for trail feel; I find the constant flow of communications through my hands indispensable to safe and nimble riding (if a little exhausting after a couple hours).

When descending especially fast, straight, and rocky/rooty sections, I still get terribly blurry vision from all the jarring and bouncing, a clear disadvantage compared to a properly adjusted fork. (I try to think of this as a safety feature -- it keeps me from overdoing the speed on descents.)

The extra weight of the wheel, tire, and elephantine inner tube -- a hefty four or five pounds -- is not as much of a drag (pun intended) as I expected. A heavier front end stays down more. There are very few moments in which it bounces high off an obstacle on a steep climb and throws me off balance. Even though I'm pushing over thirty pounds up the steep New England slopes,  this increased flow on the climbs means less exhaustion overall.

Another note regarding added weight: I've explained elsewhere that I believe that the body adapts to a reasonable level of weight variation on a bicycle. On the days when I feel exhausted riding the fat-front set-up, I'd be exhausted riding anything. On the days when I'm whippy on this set-up -- I'd be whippy on anything.

Finally, why fat-front and not fully fat, as the bike was designed? Simple: I don't need the extra four or five pounds on the back during the warm months. The 2.2 Maxxis Ardent on the back is rugged enough to handle most challenges, until the snow flies. I don't mind adapting to weight if it saves my wrists, but an extra five pounds to gain maybe 15% more traction? Nah. I'll just hike-a-bike a couple more super-steep pitches.

Having a dishless 29er rear wheel custom built on a special hub for a fat bike is not for everyone (and not every fat bike will accommodate it). But if you have the scratch, or the spare parts, give it a go; you may never go back to suspension forks again.

Heck, the conversations you start at the trailhead may be worth the price of entry alone.

Jamis Dragon 650b Pro: First Impressions

My experiment with the Salsa Mukluk as a 29er has been very successful, and certainly isn't over, but as I've hinted in these pages recently, I've been hankering to try out a purpose-built mountain bike. Something a bit easier on the wrists and nimbler in the tight spaces those crazy New England mountain bikers go flying thourgh. I've been thinking about a hard-tail because a) I don't have almost no experience with suspension and wanted to keep it simple, b) I have an old-school esthetic, and c) I ain't got the scratch for a truly nice full-suspension rig. (What is up with $5,000 bicycles?)

Through the good graces of Will Sytsma at Hampshire Bicycle Exchange in Amherst, I got the chance to do an extended test ride on one of the most fabled hard-tails in the industry, though in a new incarnation.

Jamis has been making their Dragon in 26er form for over 20 years. Soulful Reynolds 853 steel --legendary for being light and stiff -- and a first-rate spec have been the main attractions all that time. Now, they've released a 650b version, a wheel-size I've been curious about. It comes with a full X9 drivetrain front-to-back, and killer Fox Float fork. And only 26 pounds! I enthusiastically signed on.

The day the bike came in, I was knocked right out by the delicious paint job:

Jamis calls it Root Beer, but they're wrong. When I got it home, Mrs. V took one look at it and nailed it: Cherry Cola. A metallic-flaked, earthy brown with deep candy-apple undertones. In fact, the whole build is drop-dead gorgeous. Many well-placed white highlights (including two white spokes on either side of each tube valve for quick trailside top-offs) balance out the classic lines.

I've taken it out about six or so times on trails from buff to gnarly. Let's talk first about the wheel size:

Part of the pleasure of the smaller wheels is the ease of lofting the front end on to obstacles large and small, and this proved very welcome here in New England. The greater maneuverability of the wheels  (and the shorter wheelbase compared to the laid-back Mukluk) also meant switchbacky descents were just killer fun. This bike is a bit more trail- than race-oriented, so the geometry is fairly slack, but it's still way more responsive than my stately Mukluk. Speeding the Dragon through S-curves, all I need do is point my chin where I want my front tire to end up, and bang! It's there. That quickly. 

Whoopee!

However, the smaller wheels did mean that I had to work harder. I learned mountain biking on a 29er, and got very used to plowing right over obstacles that give smaller wheels pause (literally). With the 650s, I need much more momentum, strength, and skill to get over those same tall roots or bulky rocks. Now, if you learned on a 26er, these babies will probably seem cushy as heck to you...

Having little experience with suspension, my opinion about the fork has to be taken with a grain of salt. That said, I really like the Fox Float 32. For one thing, it's finely tune-able. I've fiddled with the rebound and three-step compression settings (Lock-out, Trail, and Descend), and have enjoyed the fine-grain differences they yield, when combined with rebound adjustments. I can give myself just a little cush with quick response, allowing me still to feel the trail -- very important to my rigid-trained brain. I suspect this fork stacks up extremely well against similarly-priced competition.

The X9 shifting is the best I've experienced on a mountain bike -- swift and positive, even with tension on the chain. It's been a pleasure. The handsome white section on the rear derailleur neatly ties in the white bands on the paint frame and the white fork stanchions. I'll say it again: This bike is esthetically flawless.

A few quibbles with the stock set-up:

I found the stock tires -- 2.2-inch Geax Saguaros  -- good enough on very buff terrain, but not great for more typcial Western Mass trails, crowded as they are with damp roots or marbly gravel. The center knobs are not very bulky, and, even tubeless, the Saguaros lost their grip more than my beloved Maxxis Ardents on my Mukluk. With that said, I know a rider in this area with more skills and strength than me who finds them more than good enough.

The Ritchey Trail handlebars are handsome and have a nice sweep. They're also quite wide: at 755 mm, they provide a ton of leverage through hardened ruts or rock gardens. They're also occasionally too expansive for the many sapling squeezes in Western Mass, and -- in combo with the 100 mm Trail stem --  flatten my back and thrust my head further over the bars than I care for. However, a simple stem replacement and hacksaw to the bar ends can fix this problem.

In sum:

This is a gorgeous and flawlessly functioning bicycle. I'm hesitant to say any more than that, because  the qualms I have about it have more to do with me as a rider than the bike per se. If you are a true intermediate-or-above rider, or are used to smaller wheels, or live somewhere with mostly buff trails, you're going to flat-out fall in love with this slick piece of steel.

(A word to the wise: My test ride period is over, and the bike is back on the sales floor at Hampshire Bicycle Exchange for a smokin' price. It's a 17-inch model. 'Nuff said.)

New Trail on Mt. Warner in Hadley

Pioneer Valley mountain bikers (and hikers) should know about the lovely new trail that's sprung up on Mt. Warner in North Hadley over the last year.  If you like the buff, flowy nature of Earl's Trails, there's a pleasant surprise waiting for you on this scenic hillside.

Mt. Warner is well-known amongst locals as the easy-to-spot high point in Hadley, one of the lowest-lying Pioneer Valley towns. There's some evidence that so-called Paleo-Indians were there as long ago as 10,000 BC, and that the more recent Norwottuck tribe hunted there quite a bit. Later settlers left behind two handsome artesian wells in remote places on the hill.

For almost as long, locals have made other kinds of use of the hillside: hiking, cross-country skiing, hunting, and, yes, mountain biking. However, the property was all private, and usage rights were contentious and unclear.  Trails consisted either of neglected cart and jeep trails, or unmarked, complex spur trails.

In 2009, The Trustees of Reservations, a venerable Massachusetts organization dedicated to preserving local places of natural beauty, acquired 156 acres (amid a larger protected area of about 500 acres, including neighboring Lake Warner) and set about to preserve and develop it for wise and enjoyable outdoor usage. Within the last year, Pioneer Valley director Josh Knox and a varied team of staffers and volunteers (recently including me!) have developed a lovely two-mile trail, mostly new but incorporating existing paths where possible.

I've been riding this yellow-blazed Salamander Loop Trail trail for months now, and believe it compares quite favorably to some of the best riding in the Valley

Intentions to develop further official trails do exist, but in conceptual stage only.

Though all are welcome to ride or hike the trail now -- I met four first-timers there just this past Sunday afternoon -- the reservation will open officially on Saturday, October 18, 2014, with a ribbon cutting and guided hike at 10:30 a.m., followed by food and festivities at the popular North Hadley Sugar Shack, just around the corner from the Reservation. For more info, go here.

Finding the trailhead is a bit subtle right now, as road signage is still in the works. Simply put, look for an unmarked gravel driveway on the north side of Mt. Warner Road, half-way up the hill from where the road branches off of Route 47. This driveway leads to a nice, new gravel parking lot.

Get out there and have fun -- fall is here and the air is crisp!

Grace over Grit, Every Time

A long time ago, when I was struggling to make it as a singer-songwriter in the acoustic folk world, I took a few voice lessons from a great local teacher. She was showing me ways to produce more pure sound while using less physical effort. My job was pretty much to fill my lungs and then let the air escape, freely taking shape as sound in my throat and mouth. She told me I was pushing too hard, and I made a wry comment about how familiar that message was to me. She then made a wry comment about how our least helpful patterns seem to follow us most closely into the parts of life we care most about.

In the short time I've been climbing the steep learning curve from experienced road biker to competent mountain biker, I've seen that same dynamic at play. It seems satisfying to heave body and bike over a steep, loose ramp through sheer quadriceps power, but in reality, it's wasteful. On even a moderately intense ride, I'm going to need every watt of power I can conserve, and often skill will create more speed and fun than power ever could.

At lunch today, I headed out for a neighborhood trail that features one super-steep portion which I've never managed to ride through. Feeling stronger and more confident after my personal-record ride at Kingdom Trails last weekend, I was determined to overpower it today.

Surprise! The hill won again.

I could have seen it coming. I set myself up for failure by viewing it as a competition: me versus the hill, My determination doesn't change the nature of this hill; it's steep, uneven, and features roots and rocks aplenty to slip on in the humid dampness of summer. I spun out the rear tire on a wet rock, and, of course, came to a dead stop, given the grade. Starting again wasn't an option -- too steep and loose -- so I hike-a-biked the final 30 yards.

So close!

And yet, I wasn't ashamed. Lots of people would choose to walk their bike up this hill. In the moment, I was humble enough to view this as a chance to learn, and saw that, 18 inches to the right of the fatal rock, there was an unbroken line of good dirt. "Next time," I thought.

Down the trail a ways, I reached another imposing ramp. I approached it in the tried-and-true manner, slipping forward on the saddle to keep my weight vertically aligned over the bottom bracket and evenly distributed through the wheels. But this time, I slid forward much further than usual, and found myself seated on the extreme forward edge. I hadn't even realized I could sit that far forward. And guess what? I spun up the ramp, steady and in control, no grunting or lactic acid involved.

Grace. Elegance. I felt like one of those guys in the extreme videos who make it all look so effortless.

I may be older than a lot of people who try mountain biking for the first time, but I have the benefit of having slogged through some life lessons a few hundred times already. I look for every way I can finesse my way through a fix, rather than power through. (At least on the bike; I'm working on being like this day-to-day…) The end result is that I was able last weekend to ride roughly 60% further and higher than ever before, on more technically demanding trails.

Now pass me the chopsticks, Daniel-san; there's a fly loose in the room.

Northeast Kingdom and Kingdom Trails: Bike Heaven

Ever had one of those outdoors trips that leave you pie-eyed, exhausted, and exhilarated by the end of the weekend? Did you return dutifully to home and work, only to end up wandering dreamily about town, replaying glorious memories of days just passed?

Well, friend, I just had me that kind of a weekend.

*     *     *

Back in February, when I turned 50, I spent a few weeks casting about for a proper way to commemorate the occasion. Fifty years seemed too much of an achievement, too dizzying a precipice, to go without a real humdinger of a celebration.

Many dried-out magic markers and mind-maps later, I settled on cooking up a trip for me and some good friends, people I knew would have the right spirit for such an undertaking. I wanted to keep it within New England so everyone could drive. I wanted it to involve as much biking as possible. And I didn't want to tour; I wanted a beautiful and reliable base camp for us to return to every night, where we could smear ourselves with bear fat, dance in loincloths by the firelight, and tell stories of glory and danger from the hunt.

As the weeks dwindled, one and then another of the three friends I was expecting had to excuse themselves. It was a bit of a let-down to realize that, after all that dreaming and planning, it would just be my friend Todd and me having the actual adventure. However, I've ridden enough with Todd to know that he's a perfect partner for such outings, and I was still pretty darn stoked the week leading up to the trip.

Last Thursday -- four and a half months after my birthday -- I packed up the micro-SUV (my trusty Corolla) with tent, food, sleeping bag, and all the camping accoutrements, strapped the road and mountain bike on the back, pointed it all north, and put a brick on the accelerator. Destination: Vermont's fabled Northeast Kingdom.

Our goal was to ride the famed Kingdom Trails mountain bike park as much as possible, and also to get a couple road rides in the beateous countryside. As it turned out, we did all that and more

I'd booked us a gorgeous campsite at Brighton State Park, a little parcel about 25 minutes north of Burke, home of the Kingdom Trails. When I arrived at the campground, I could hardly believe the beauty.

The sites project out over a beautiful pond, with peaks in the background

A short path from the campsite leads down to water's edge

Todd arrived, and, after setting up camp, we set out on a short ride to get a little dirt road action in before starting the fire for dinner.

Dirt road junkies will find heaven in northeasternVermont

Friday turned out to be a perfect summer day, with cool breezes, temps in the 70s, and blue skies. We were eager to get down to Kingdom Trails and find out what the fuss was all about. The morning was spent on the lower part of Darling Hill, reminding our legs what this mountain biking thing was all about; we enjoyed these trails a lot, and even ended up repeating one of them (Beat Bog) for fun. It was the first time I'd ridden in a purpose-built mountain bike park, and it was strange and wonderful, as if someone had built a candy store in the middle of the woods. So much fun to be had, how do we choose trails? The folks at the check-in office had been very helpful with that.

Around noon, we broke for a sizable lunch, knowing that our bigger challenge lay ahead of us. As we worked on our sandwiches, we struck up a conversation with Bennet and Nathan, two very nice young guys from the West Coast who are traveling the country for nearly five months, going from one infamous adventure site to the next. California, Utah, Colorado, the South -- you name it, they've been there (or are headed there). To top it all off, they're getting college credit for this, since they're majoring in outdoor leadership and have helped to develop their own program. Smart guys, indeed!

As we saddled up for our afternoon ride, they asked for info about our campground and I gave them our site number, assuming we'd never see them again.

Up and up we headed, for the higher trails on the Darling Hill side of the park (the Burke Mountain side is more for the downhill crowd, definitely not our thing). Thence, we dove down the twisty, switchbacky routes that seem to be Kingdom Trails' trademark, my rigid fork registering every lovely root along the way. The registration gal had boasted about how smooth the trails were, but I have to say, even the Pioneer Valley back home in Western Mass has smoother trails than this. Maybe she rides full suspension?

However rooty the trails, they are laid out in such a pleasing manner that we had no complaints. Swoopy, challenging, but not insane, we more than once let out the childish whoops that are the sure sign of a good riding area.

The climb from the river basin on the far side of Darling Hill back up to the peak was brutal, with sections ranging from 15 to even 30 per cent in grade. The reward, however, is so spectacular, it was more than worth the effort: Heaven's Bench.

Burke Mountain from Heaven's Bench

At this point, we'd already far exceeded my record for distance and elevation in the mountains. Since the descent back to town started with a 40% grade (yes, you read that right), I was instantly put on alert that I couldn't let exhaustion blur my nascent skills. I spent the first part of the descent talking out loud to myself, trying to keep sharp. Once we hit Widowmaker, however, the fun took over, and (as happened a few times that day) I suddenly became a better rider, just because the trail was so enjoyable I just had to let go and trust the bike and my body.

We finished the day with 17 miles, no injuries or even dangerous moments, and more joy than I've ever had in one day on a bike.

Ice cream? Of course. A splash in the cold river running behind the town bike shop? You bet! After a stop at camp to shower and change, we headed into Island Pond for burgers. Here are a few shots from this exremely scenic little burg, which is being kept up admirably:

Back at the campground, Todd had just built the fire and I was finishing up a call to Mrs. V., when who should arrive at our virtual doorstep but Nathan and Bennet, in the flesh. We were delighted, and, in response to their shy inquiry, insisted they spend the night at our campsite. We talked into the night of fabulous adventures (no bearfat or dancing about the fire, unfortunately), and Todd and I were deeply impressed with the passion, intelligence, and unstoppable optimism of  these two young fellows. They infused our tired souls with much-needed zest, and we drifted off to sleep with visions of future adventures dancing in our heads.

It was one of the best days of outdoor fun in my life, and I'll remember it forever.

Saturday, the young men left early, and Todd and I struggled to saddle up for a road ride. We were tired from all of Friday's shenanigans! Saddle up we did, however, to head west on Route 105. What looked to be flat-to-rolling on my iPhone, however, turned out to have a few more feet of up and down than expected. However, we were surrounded by miles of low-lying fish and wildlife refuge, which was refreshing and lovely. The hills in the distance were a dramatic border to the picture.

We made it over the New Hampshire line, our stated goal, and searched in vain for decent food in a town so small, one-pony would be the most accurate description.

The best part about North Statford, NH, was the view coming in to town

On the way back, we just about lay down and went to sleep on the side of the road. Only the mosquitoes saved us from being found late in the day, dehydrated and mumbling something about Clif Bars. We got back on the bike, somehow found a rhythm, and formed an efficient paceline of two, actually motoring back to camp in good time. I think I just needed those five mosquito-infested minutes to digest the packaged cheese from the North Stratford Gas Mart.

The rest of the day went quickly, and all too soon, Todd was packed and on his way back to family and home. I stayed Saturday night on my own, reading, resting, and retelling adventures to Mrs. V by phone. Sunday morning, I was up and out early. I stopped in Burke on my way south and got a good breakfast and a bucket-load of coffee. I was envious of all the riders suited up for a day's adventure, and toyed with the idea of one more ride. It wasn't just the fact that -- disappointingly -- there are no public trails in Burke, and I didn't want to pay another $15 for an hour's ride. Over the years, I've learned to make my break early on the final day. Lingering is never as good as it sounds.

*     *     *

Despite the setback of losing two key guys for the trip, Todd and I managed to have the time of our lives in the Kingdom, and were making plans for a return before the weekend was half-over. I strongly recommend these highly-touted trails and this lovely part of scenic and rugged New England.

More importantly, please don't sit around jealously staring at other people's adventure blogs. Let them be a guide to you, just as Bennet and Nathan inspired us. I had plenty of reasons not to chance such an ambitious trip this year, and other reasons along the way to give up (just four weeks ago, my knees were killing me, but I persisted in my already-long search and, in the nick of time, found an ace physical therapist who got me fixed up in no time). 

Bottom line: I found a way, and you can, too. Do it! These are the stories that will sustain us in our dotage!

My new motto: Own the trail, buy the bumper sticker.

New 29er Wheels for the Salsa Mukluk

While life, in it's manifold manifestations, has kept me from these pages lately, gentle reader, it has not -- I repeat, not -- kept me from fun on the bike. 

You all know I spent the winter sneaking out for fat bike adventures on the new Mukluk (and, if not, go to the links in the right-hand column of this page to catch up). As the weather warmed, I got to thinking about how Salsa built the Muks so they could take 29-inch mountain bike wheels as well as the monstrous ones that come stock.

Since I'd originally planned on buying a mountain bike before I fell in love with the Muk, the idea really appealed to me. Friend Will Sytsma, over at Hampshire Bicycle Exchange in Amherst,  put his mind to it and eventually found me a great deal on a sexy pair of Sunringle Inferno rims. He also nabbed a Salsa 2 rear hub and a Salsa 3 front, and began lacing them up for me. In no time, I had a pair of all-jet-black Systma Originals, and they looked pistol-hot.

Sytsma originals...

As is my wont, I did endless research online regarding the best tire solution. My needs were well-defined: I wanted the best tread and rubber compound for New England's rooty, rocky, hard-pack mix, and I wanted to go tubeless to add extra cush on what was to be a fully-rigid mountain bike. Even with the 3.8" Surly Nates, the Muk puts my wrists through the wringer on anything but the smoothest snow.

I settled on what seems to be the hot new tire on the block, the Maxxis Ardent, 2.4" up front and 2.25" in back. When I finally got hold of a pair last Friday (which was no mean feat) I ran over the the Bike Exchange and watched mechanic Alex mount them up.

Mmmm… new tiiiiiires...

The 2.25 hopped on the rim like it was eager to go out and rip the trails. The 2.4, however, was more truculent. After much failed experimentation and frantic pumping, I exhorted Alex to mount the thing with a tube, which I'll use until Will can get a Stan's tubeless rim strip in stock. The thinner Stan's rim tape was just not getting the job done.

Bubbles aren't good when you're testing the seal on a tubeless set-up

Alex puts the finishing touches on what amounts to a hot new mountain bike

On Saturday, as soon as I could fake finishing household chores and convince the tolerant Mrs. V to let me go, I threw the bike on the rack and headed for Earl's Trails in Amherst, my local playground at the foot of the Holyoke moutains. (Did you know they're the only East-West-oriented mountain range in the Eastern United States?)

New wheel and a favorite trailhead on a Saturday morn… Life is good.

The first thing I noticed was how ridiculously light the bike felt. Just lifting it off the car rack was a different experience. Yet the tires, while much smaller than the 3.8s, provided a surprising amount of impact absorption. The Sytsma wheels are wonderfully stiff, and, along with the aluminum frame on the Muk, ensure that every watt I apply to the pedals translates into forward motion.

On flat-to-rolling terrain, this means that I want to stand up and hammer, because the response is so quick. On climbs, the benefits of the lighter rig are tangible. To be honest, there is a slight cost in losing the huge rubber of the Nates, because the latter simply roll right over the rooty, rocky inclines of Western Mass without a moment's thought. I'm going to have to learn a lot about picking climbing lines. All told, though, the 29er Muk will almost certainly out-climb the fat version by a mile, because of the weight difference. I laughed aloud when I picked up a Nate-equipped Surly wheel in one hand, and one of the new Sunringles shod with an Ardent in the other. Rock versus feather.

The new set-up at a picturesque spot near the high point of the day

Of course, there's a real price to pay for lightness of the bike. One reason it's so light is the lack of suspension fork, which means that my wrists felt mighty abused at the end of a mere 1.5 hour ride. However, I have a number of fixes in mind for that: 1) learn to pick better lines on descents, 2) keep elbows and arms looser, 3) perhaps a shorter stem to keep a little more weight off the hands on descents, and 4) get slightly more absorbent handlebar grips, 5) and new gloves with fresh cushioning in the palms. Finally, perhaps most important of all: 6) go tubeless in the front. Five or so fewer pounds of pressure in the 2.4 should significantly ease things for the wrists, and increase traction.

In the meantime, I had the biggest blast Saturday I've had on a bike since I first climbed on the Muk for my fateful test-ride. I climbed way higher than I have before, descended more nimbly, and flicked on the afterburners on nearly every flat section, just to feel the acceleration. More good things to come from this package, without a doubt!

#     #     #

A Fling Forgiven

Well, when you're pushing 50, these things happen.

We've all heard about the guy who runs out and buys the bright red sports car to compensate for his fading manhood. As for me, I bought a mountain bike. Like, with about 15 minutes of forethought.

I was gonna test ride it -- really, seriously! But this mysterious other buyer was circling around, and my friend selling the bike said I might want to move fast. I figured, what the hey! So I have almost no idea what to do with it. I want to learn more about single-track riding. It's a gorgeous bike. I'll grow into it.

I was wrong.

I rode that stunning beauty four times, and never once had a really good time. It was like being on someone else's bike. The 700c wheels -- my norm -- felt huge with those fat tires sitting on them. I couldn't really get over very much that I couldn't get over with the much narrower tires on my beloved, fully rigid Vaya. Between all that air in the tires and the suspension fork, I just couldn't feel the surface of the trails or roads, which led to worse handling, not better.

Maybe it's just too advanced a bike for me, or maybe I need a 26er; my friends who race say that smaller wheels allow them to pick their way through the rocks, roots, and tight turns of New England more nimbly. Or maybe I just wasn't built for mountain bikes.

Saturday, after another frustrating ride, I called the shop and asked my pal if he'd take the Mariachi back as a straight trade for the Vaya I had swapped. He was very understanding, and to my great relief, said simply, "Sure!"

It's good to have that bike back in the stable where it belongs. I plan to lay slightly fatter rubber on it, maybe 40 or 43 mm, so I can reel in those those nasty gravel and washed-out fire roads a bit more handily. But nothing like the 2.2" tires on the Mariachi. Beasts, they were.



I grew up a road rider, and perhaps I'll always be defined by that provenance. But that doesn't mean I don't like to get dirty. Salsa's Web site says of the Vaya, "Designed to take on any surface that someone might consider a road." In the end, that might neatly describe yours truly, as well.

I've Been Turned

Well, the dirt-loving virus that took hold of me when I bought my Salsa Vaya has completed its hijacking of my brain and legs: Yesterday, in a feverish haze no doubt brought on by too much time on single-track (or too many blows to the head falling off of single-track)...

...I purchased a mountain bike.

To be specific, a Salsa El Mariachi, with 29-inch wheels, a metallic-flaked dark charcoal and ruby-red paint job, classy components, tubeless-ready rims, and snappy WTB Bronson 2.2-inch tires.

I'm both thrilled and nervous. Will I like real mountain biking as much as I think? Did I give away that beautiful root-beer-brown Vaya in vain?

I managed a straight trade for the Vaya (also a Salsa), a bike that I am certainly grieving today. If I could have kept both, I surely would have. The Vaya is a solid, lovely bike, well-built to its purposes, but those main functions -- touring/commuting or gravel-grinding -- aren't things I can do enough of around here to justify keeping such a nice bike in the stable. My master plan includes a separate treasonous act: trading in my racy Cannondale for a slightly more comfortable but still-swift bike, which would handle both pavement and gravel, and be more forgiving of my middle-aged back on longer rides. At that point, I'll be able to do single-track and rougher fire roads/double-track on the 29er, and longer gravel and road rides on the road bike. (I sure wish I had the scratch to keep all the beauties that have passed through my clutches.)

Words can't describe my disorientation when I enter my garage and spy that broad-shouldered draft horse leaning against the wall. I'm used to a featherweight thoroughbred with wafer-thin tires. It's a weird thrill -- sort of like the day I bought my Ford Bronco when I moved to the mountains of New Mexico years ago, after having driven only economy cars to that point.

I'm really looking forward to taking the Mariachi out on the trails I've already mastered (and, especially, the ones I've almost mastered) on the Vaya, to experience the difference between riding dirt on a modestly-geared touring bike with cyclocross tires and drop handlebars, and on a wide-bar bike with monster-truck wheels, a classy suspension fork, and silky-smooth disc brakes.

I suspect some of you old (uh, I mean old-school) mountain bikers out there are cringing at the idea of a 293er, thinking "When I was starting out, the wheels were the size of a silver dollar, and you could have put Action Jackson on my saddle and he would have reached the pedals! Harrumph!" Well, have mercy on me. I'm a 47-year-old rank beginner to this discipline. I have the most grown-up job I've ever held, a terrific marriage, a new house, and kids in the not-too-distant future. To top it all off, it's not like I'm starting off with a bumper crop of athletic talent. In short, I need my energy and body intact at the end of the weekend. My impression has been that 29ers make mountain biking a little easier (or a lot, depending on who you ask), especially on the rooty, rocky, narrow trails of Olde New England.

Besides, this is a looker, with an outstanding reputation, and made by a small, still-funky company run by people who really ride and love bikes. What's more, the guy who sold me the Vaya was looking to get rid of the Mariachi right at the moment I was considering 29ers -- it was another one of those "right place, right time, right bike" deals I seem to have a knack for.

So rejoice for me. And then hook me up with some beginner's trails, because I can't seem to find any around here, and I'm tired of falling on my popo.

Wendell State Forest: A Land Apart

Dear Pioneer Valley nature lovers who haven't been to Wendell Sate Forest: You are missing a gem, and it's right under your nose.

I spent two hours surfing the double-track up there on Saturday, and I'm not sure I've seen a prettier patch of land in our corner of Olde New England.

There are many miles of NEMBA-groomed single-track here, but I can't vouch for it, because, as rugged as the Vaya is for a road bike, it was barely tough enough to withstand some of the two-track. I didn't get pictures of the truly rough stuff in the first mile or two of Jerusalem Road; I was too busy puffing and sweating over the jagged, closely-spaced, shark-tooth rollers. More than gravel, the roads there are lined with stones, ranging from marble- to golf ball-size. Not great for maintaining control on steep downhills with narrow tires and drop bars. Eventually, death-grip braking on the descents, with my popo hanging out over my rear tire, became as tiring (and tiresome) as the constant climbs, and I sought out friendlier terrain.

Below are scenes from Brook, Wickett Pond, Carlton and Dirth Roads; more rolling in feel, yet with enough zingers to keep the quads softened and the esprit challenged.

Trust me: mere snapshots from a cell phone won't do justice to the back-of-beyond peace and spiritual vibe out there. I saw not one other human being the entire morning (other than a grounds guy on a bush trimmer giving the roads a haircut). Nor biker, nor hiker, nor vehicle humming, on a lovely morning in August.

While I was delighted with the solitude, I also felt a twinge of worry. Don't give the State House reason to cut back on funds for this remarkable treasure folks. It took me 25 minutes to drive there from my front door; load up the bike and just go. It's a win-win.

Strange Gods

August 2011 -- Expeditions into the hills of Amherst, though strenuous, have borne fruit. Stumbled upon unspoiled evidence of a race bearing the runic moniker of MTBers. The stone likeness below was erected beside a mountain trail -- mysteriously, not used for transport to other important locations or for the bearing of goods. Purpose of trail still to be determined. Apparently, this primitive, perplexing people worshiped a deity not recorded in other annals of the time.

A Happy Camper

In less than three weeks, I leave for camp.

Not "camp" as in a bunch of kids sitting around singing folk songs. "Camp" as in "training camp."

Friend and local racer Rob has been extremely generous in setting this trip up. I originally proposed a few days away in some driveable location like Virginia, which might still be snowy at that time. Rob went into his wonderful "think-big" mode instead, and cobbled together a couple airline vouchers, some family connections and some favors from friends. We plan to fly into Salt Lake, shop for food, sleep over nearby, pick up a bunch of camping gear and couple (excellent) borrowed bikes, and drive south to Moab. Yeah, Moab. I know what you're thinking: Mountain bike heaven, right? Right, and we'll do some of that. But did you know that there's heavenly road biking there too? (Actually, "unearthly" might be a better adjective. Click on the accompanying pix for larger versions of the glory.) There's even a road-biking festival there.

Southern Utah is where I had perhaps the most significant turning point of my life. I spent the summer between high school and college blazing trail and doing conservation work in Zion National Park (just down the road from Moab). In a very real sense, it blew my mind. I was a changed man. I grew up in New York City, and I cried real tears when I had to come home. I was so mentally far away for days after returning that my parents were worried about me.

In the 27 years since, no matter where I've lived, I have considered the Four Corners area my real home on planet Earth, and have gone back as often as possible. It will be wonderful to be there, and so close to Zion.

I'm still recovering from pnuemonia, and I've spent the bulk of the last six weeks totally off of the bike. So there'll be some health questions in all that travel and sleeping in the cold -- blah, blah, blah. Let's face it: the biggest challenge might actually be holding back from riding all day, every day. However, if you are the praying type, a few prayers sent my way for full strength and recovery would be welcome!

But if the worst that happens is that I bake myself in the sun half the time or walk along the river and breathe the crystal-clear air while tripping out on the gorgeous scenery, well, how great would that be? I'm bummed I won't be able to ride long and hard, as we planned. But I'm really looking forward to the trip. In fact, it might well be just what I need for a full recovery.

Thanks, Rob. In the language of my tribe, you're a mensch.

Velophoria Incident Report

Apologies to all for my prolonged absence from these pages. First it was job searching, then it was long-distance apartment searching (my wife and I are moving to another part of the state), and finally, we took a week-long camping trip to Acadia National Park, in Maine. Hence the inexcusably long two-and-a-half week lag between posts.

For reasons too hard to explain (and I still don't completely understand them myself), I couldn't take my bike to Acadia. I missed it terribly. For the first few days, every single time I saw any kind of bike whatsoever, I had the worst pangs you could imagine. Bear in mind, one sees a lot of bikes in Acadia during July. On day four or so, my wife got weary of my pining and kindly bundled me off to the highest-end bike rental place we could find, shelled out an obscene amount of money (for a decent entry-level mountain bike), and I rode off, map in hand, to find the most challenging trail on the island. (It was weird spending money to ride someone else’s bike. I’ll try to never do that again.)

There is no off-road riding allowed in the Park, for obvious reasons, but they do have excellent carriage roads designed by none other than John D. Rockefeller, Jr., who had a pied-a-terre in the area, and was a horse-and-carriage fanatic. He loved landscape architecture, as well – learned it from his daddy – and by all accounts, lavished quite a lot of his time and energies supervising the construction of these paths. They're laid with large gravel, and offer a relatively even surface -- which presents a small, pleasing technical challenge on extra-fast descents.

Now, don’t kid yourself thinking that rich-boy carriage trails are all a walk in the park. Most of them are flat-to-rolling, but the Around the Mountain trail does gain quite a bit of altitude on a very long, constant grade with little let-up. It loops around six mountains, passes three gorgeous waterfalls, and has inspiring views of mountains, lakes, harbors and ocean. You really can’t ask for more. I looped that in with a bunch of other trails and some road riding back to my campground, and ended up with roughly 23 miles of riding (I didn’t have an odometer on my rented bike to get a specific distance).

I got caught in a thunderstorm of biblical proportions during the last third of this ride, which devolved into nearly an hour of pedaling in torrential rain and blinding wind. I’ve never seen more fickle weather than on Mount Desert Island, the home of Acadia. The weather was sparkling for most of the ride, and the clouds moved in so quickly I didn’t even notice them until the heavens opened up. This was common during our stay, though we were lucky, with mostly pleasant days. The hiking was just as good as the biking, and there were plentiful other pleasures to enjoy.

So rest assured: Though I may be absent from the pages of Velophoria, I am nevertheless always in search of velophoria. And if you seek such yourself, you could do no better than to hie thee to glorious Acadia National Park.