Risk

Last night, whilst shellacking the wooden teeth before bed, I was reviewing my lovely Sunday ride in my head. The part I dwelt upon was the long stretch above the trees, wending through Wendell State Forest. I was thinking again of how wonderfully isolated I was up there. There’s a long stretch during which you can’t see a single sign of civilization. Just rolling hills covered with the forest primeval.

It occurred to me that, if I had been there later in the day and, say, broken a bone or had a catastrophic equipment failure, it would have been all on me to get bike and body to civilization. I might even have had to make camp for the night as best as possible and wait for the first car down the road in the morning. There are no houses for miles. (Yes, I ride with a cell phone – that’s part of being married, a trade-off I happily make – but there is little-to-no signal up there.)

Now, risk is certainly not why I went out there. There are many reasons—the simple pleasure of time on the bike, there’s the hard effort of the steep grades, the fabulous view, and, of course, the solitude. Pehaps the most important ingredient was that I decided to explore a new area. I did get lost for a bit, but, even though that gets frustrating after a while, I believe it only adds to the goodness.

And yet the risk undoubtedly was an element. That “back-of-beyond” feeling. Relying on yourself alone.

It's the way you feel when you're backpacking miles from the nearest road. It’s why randonneurs ride unsupported. It’s the principle of the thing: Bust a spoke? Bent your derailleur into a pretzel? You're on yer own, friend. Better know how to jury-rig something to get you to cell-phone coverage. Or, if you're not up to the repair, you'd better be ready for an adventure, of the type you didn't bargain for.

With luck, that just means discovering, by staggering synchronicity, one more guardian angel walking the earth, who picks you up in her/his car, tells you a fascinating life story you otherwise would have never heard, and drops you off where you can be collected by a friend or loved one. I’ve had my share of these saviors, and I still savor the stories.

I’m hoping I still have credits for a few more of those. Because the whole point here is that (to cash in on a cliche) you just never know. You have to be as prepared as possible, but life is infinitely variable.

May this edgy mystery send a pleasant yet cautionary jolt down your spine the next time you throw your leg over the saddle.

We Are the 99% of the Talent Pool

If you're an outdoors nut (and you must be some kind of nut if you're reading this blog) you know can't go online these days without being bombarded by at least five links a day to mind-blowing extreme videos. Mountain bikers riding down a ten-inch-wide mountain goat trail on a 25% grade in Italy, which no one in their right mind would even hike up. People racing the Iditarod trail on fat bikes in sub-zero weather. Some dude in Wisconsin pulling an overnighter in a hammock on the top of a flagpole he rode up.  (Did I have you going on that one?)

Every time I open Facebook or my feed-reader and find one of those links, I think, "Ooo, pretty pictures of fun stuff," and my finger clicks before I know it... like the proverbial lab rat.

Suddenly, I'm immersed in the quest of some scraggly dude I never heard of, pedaling across Mongolia eating only native plants. (Some other scraggly dude crossed Mongolia last year with a bag-full of Clif Bars, and, like, carrying food is so 20th century.) There's a long shot of him proceeding at an ant's pace over a dirt road stretching to the infiinite horizon over the barren steppes. The frigid sun glints off the camera lens. Sparse guitar licks echo with loneliness.

The guy must be some kind of monk, or insane asylum escapee. What a hero! Extreme privation! YES!

I start wondering if I could close my business for a couple months, beg off from family duties, stuff some home-grown vegetables and a flask of well-water into my handlebar bag, and ride straight to Hudson Bay.

Maybe I could stay a couple months up there, just long enough to see the Northern Lights. Just me. Yeah, that sounds perfect. Well -- I'd take my solar iPhone charger, of course. I mean, I gotta make an edit, dude; the sponsors ain't gonna pay me just to dive head-first off the grid, and besides, I have to show off my new 30-gram tripod and iOS 7 editing suite, and seriously? I'll need something to do on those 18-hour summer days.

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These extreme dudes, God bless 'em. I like watching their vids, because, actually, they're inspiring and a little shocking.

Yet what I say is, we are the heroes. The middle-of-the-roaders, who who force ourselves to actually finish the dishes, get little Emma to and from her soccer game, hand in that work assignment—so we can leave for our ride (now shortened from two hours to one) unburdened by nagging guilt. We are the ones who ride through pain and nasty weather, not because we're paid to, but because it matters so crazy much to us.

It's time that we normals, who keep the bike industry rolling, become the laureates in the beautiful videos, the stunning advertising photos, and the industry Web sites.

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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!

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Spring Vaya Hill Climb

Winter's gone -- I mean, really gone this time, no more freak April snowstorms, thank you. Will and I decided to celebrate with a double-Vaya dirt road dandy.

We took Shutesbury Road in Amherst to Pratt Corner Road and then a little further up Montague Road in Shutesbury. A lot of dirt climbing early on a chill spring morn, temps in the 30s at roll-out (7:30 -- ouch! -- because Will had to be back at the shop in time to open) but more comfortable towards the end. Birds singing, horses in upland pastures, and a good long talk about the recent challenges and rewards of our lives. Somehow, chatting on a bike always amounts to therapy. Then, of course, the payoff: The bomber downill, trying to lay off the brakes on the twisty, pot-holed spring roads. FUN!

Today, I remembered why I bought the Vaya. Thanks for a great ride, Will!

A chilly, brownish roll-out

The apex, somewhere in the Shutesbury woods

Will found a perfect tripod to produce the next photo, below

Admirals Bird and Scott, as I call us

We climbed the whole thing...

… and survived the descent!

Winter Finale, Pioneer Valley

As winter exits (s-l-o-w-l-y) we few-but-proud fat bikers in the Pioneer Valley are left with trails that are neither fish nor fowl. Not dry enough for trad mountain bike wheels, but not enough snow for generic fat biking. This hasn't kept some of us crazies from venturing out, though.

The arrival in town last week of mutual friend, former owner of Hampshire Bicycle Exchange, and fellow fat biker Chris, prompted an email from my pal Will, curent owner of the Exchange. I was invited for a bit of fun on the telephone-pole trails up in Shutesbury. A Mukluk reunion? A fat frenzy? How could I refuse?

And so, early Friday found us out in the forested hills on a frosty morn. The trails were pretty much edge-to-edge with ice of varying texture. I'm not a mountain biker by pedigree, so fat biking on the snow has been a great learning opportunity for me. I've been boning up on drop-offs, stream crossings, and twisty descents, all with the reassuring softness of a mat of white stuff to break any falls. As it turned out, there were almost none to catch this season; the Mukluk is a wonderfully stable bike.

Friday changed all that. Each of us was taken to school -- Ice Handling 101. Chris proved himself quite nimble, wending his way up and bombing his way down  most of what gave me and Will a bit more pause. I personally counted about four falls. Despite a few bruises, I'm learning to fall a lot more fluidly, and that might be as valuable a skill as any for a newbie. They do say that, if you mountain bike, you will crash.

I was wiped out at end of the hour-and-a-half ride, and it took me a couple days to fully recover. A lot of my energy was spent wrestling the (rather burly) bike over icy ruts and turbocharging it up slippery slopes. I'm thinking that, with a little more skill, I'll be able to finesse it a bit more and finish up less winded.

Despite the challenges -- probably because of them -- the good runs were extra rewarding. We were chatting away at the cars after we were done, dashing down a part of the trail we hadn't tried, not quite wanting to be finished… It was a good morning.

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