Overdue

Tags

mountain biking

I am cheap.  Very, very, very, very cheap.  I will not spend money unless it’s absolutely necessary.  Everything in my possession gets used until it can no longer be used.  That is something that is very evident in the equipment I use for cycling.

Last night, I reached the point of no return with my mountain bike shoes.  After four years, they finally blew out and gave up the ghost.  I spent a whole whopping $60 on those Shimano shoes four years ago.  The right shoe completely blew out the side.  Interestingly enough, the blowout did not prevent me from finishing my ride.

That means I had to spend money today.  For the past few months, I have known that my shoes were far past their life expectancy.  My hope was that I could make them last until there was a gap in my budget and I could afford the really cool shoes.  I have had my eyes on a pair of Five Ten Hellcat shoes, fairly expensive but not over the top expensive.  Because my shoes blew out before I was ready to spend the money, I had to settle.  I bought a pair of Shimano ME3 shoes today, a very comfortable shoe, but not cool.  Shimano is good for guys who need wide toe boxes, like me.  I will be very happy.

 

The new cleats are on.  I will be breaking the new shoes in with newcomers to the sport tomorrow morning.  Apparently, the guy who is in charge of the trail system I ride thinks that I am a good ambassador for the sport.  I am leading two noobs on their first ride in the morning.  Last night was a noob ride, although that kid was very very good!

Steve is old

Tags

lessons learned, middle age, mountain biking, personal

Why in the world do I do this?

My body hurts.  My body hates me right now.  Seriously, my body is screaming “HEY, YOU CRAZY OLD MAN, DO YOU REALIZE THAT YOU ARE OLD, OLD, OLD, OLD?”

Listen, body, I know that.  Do you realize that stuff like this is the responsibility of old people who ride mountain bikes?

Alcohol was necessary tonight.  It really was.  I punished my body.  It needs to be numbed.  I apologize to those who struggle with alcohol addiction.  But tonight, my body begged me to please allow it to have a brief respite from pain.

My friend Greg asked me a few days ago if I was available to ride tonight, to ride some trails that are freakishly difficult.  I laughed, but I said yes.  Why did I laugh?  I am a pretty decent rider when I am riding trails that I know will not beat the snot out of me.  I am pretty decent rider, but I am not one of the most skilled riders.  Greg did not care.  He invited me to ride.  Sometimes it’s not about how well a person rides, it’s about what they add to the quality of the ride.  I add quality.  I am the type of person who encourages.

It’s true.

Greg wanted me to ride with him and a young, upcoming 18 year old rider who is thinking about racing, who needed exposure to some really difficult trails to ride.  The trails we rode tonight are so difficult that they have been declared off limits.  They are no longer sanctioned by the local trail advocate.  They freaking beat the snot out of me.  Early on, I realized that all I needed to do was try, to pick a line on the freakishly steep drops and finish them.  I needed to watch this 18 year old boy finish and rock the impossible rock gardens, tell him what a rock star he really is.  I needed to finish the trails with them, no matter how slow I finished them, because it’s cool for a guy my age to take those type of chances.

Tonight was an absolute blast.  I rode some of the really tough stuff, walked when I just plain couldn’t.  It didn’t matter.  Riding like a rock star wasn’t my purpose tonight.  tongith, I just needed to enjoy myself.  I watched an 18 year old clear what seemed impossible — oh my, that kid rode some gnarly stuff.  I was a cheerleader.  I listened to him exclaim the joy of how freaking impossible some of the stuff we rode was.  He fell to the ground at the end of our ride, totally wasted but satisfied.

OK, body, are you happy now?

Let’s see how we feel in the morning.

 

Sometimes You’re The Toast

Tags

mountain biking, personal

Tonight’s ride was supposed to be just me and the woods, casual, close to dusk and one of those do-it-because-you-will-hate-yourself-tomorrow-if-you-don’t rides.  3 PM hit me like a ton of sleeping pills at the office today, normally a time when I can sneak a little nap in on the floor of my office.  My other two office mates are usually gone by then.  Instead, I left at my normal 4:30, no nap accomplished because our office manager stayed late.  Lunch was also light, creamy peanut butter on a leftover hamburger bun, so I was moaning for some food.  Life was as tough as it gets for this guy.

I rushed home, popped a leftover grilled hamburger patty and two corn on the cobs into the microwave.  As I greedily consumed the luscious leftovers, I anticipated the call of the couch, a nap on the horizon.  My couch has five stuffed pillows on it, so I knew that the hamburger (mayo with ketchup and huge huge huge hamburger dill pickles) would send me into snooze heaven.  I was not disappointed.  Furious 7 was on cable, one of the worst movies everrrrrrrrrrr, so I was off to the sheep counting races.

10 minutes later, my semi conscious mind reminded me that it was a perfect evening to ride.  The woods would be pristine, as would be the single track.  It was freaking 82 degrees with a tiny breeze.  GET OFF OF THE COUCH, YOU SLUG.

So, I listened to my guilty conscience, changed into my mountain biking attire (much more socially acceptable than the laughable road attire… no affable humors for me).  The bike fit into it’s normal space behind my car, quickly, and I was off to the trails.  ETA was close to 7 PM.  Surely (I won’t call you Shirley) no one would be there.

Wrong.

Five of the fastest young men on the planet arrived at the trail parking lot about the same time I pulled in.  They know me.  I am a regular.  I could not escape.

Are you going to ride with us, they inquired.

Oh no, I wouldn’t want to hold you back, I replied.

You know we don’t care, they retorted.

Poop.  Fiddlesticks.  Why in the world would these 20 something guys who ride like the wind want to ride with this old couch loving man?  They did, however.  Crap, what in the world was I getting into.  I knew.  I have been out on the trails with them before.  I can hang, but it’s balls out.  Poop poop poop.  POOP!

I rode with them, hung with them on most of the trails, gritted my teeth and rode the way I know that I am supposed to.  By the end, I was toast, but happy that I finished with them.

I will sleep well tonight.

Beauty and the Bike

Tags

life, mountain biking, relationships

 

A view of the DuPage River from the trail, taken last Friday afternoon.

 

There is something richly sublime about mountain biking, valuable to me more than the exercise and physical health that riding a bike brings.  This time of year, I find myself stopping to take in the woods and scenery more than ever, the same trails a totally different place now that the leaves have dropped.  Mixed with the rush and thrill of bombing into ravines, hopping a log, jumping a berm is the beauty of a place that often seems like it is made for me alone.

Thank you, God.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  God reminds me of his blessings each and every day, more evident to me even more in this season of my life, overwhelming when I am surrounded by the wonder of creation.  As I took the pictures that are shared in today’s entry, I literally was driven to my knees in joyous tears.  Is it because I have more to be thankful for right now, I asked, or is it because I am simply more aware?  My heart danced as I laughed out loud in the quiet peace of the woods, happy to enjoy the moments that God was giving to me.

Friday’s ride was all downhill or so it seemed.  Believe me, it’s not.  The trail system that I ride regularly is a booger for even a rider with advanced skills, downright scary for newbies.  There was a lightness for me, a fresh heart, an energy that made every challenge to the trail easy.

I took these pictures because I wanted to share my favorite place with a new friend, someone who is touching my heart, one of those blessings that helps me see the world like I see the world in those woods.  I sent the pictures to her, let her know that I am thinking of her, then climbed back on my bike for two hours of trail bliss.  Our relationship is as new as the breathless views through leafless trees that I experienced Friday.  I am content.  I have hope.

I rode until the light was too dim in the woods to see the trail.  The beauty of the woods, the quiet, is as peaceful as can be that time of day.  While I slept Friday night, it snowed, my thankfulness amplified knowing that I had taken advantage of the last day to ride outside for a while.

 

Destination Duluth

Tags

life, mountain biking, personal, relationships, sports

It’s been a while since I have been here, not by choice, but simply because I had one of those nasty respiratory infections that went to my eyes.  The infection turned to pink eye and I felt like I was running on depleted cheap batteries for about two weeks.  That kind of sucks, but it also forced me to slow down and learn to become one with my couch again, something that I haven’t done for a while.  Since it’s summer, I don’t like to skimp on my riding.

Of course, the respiratory infection started to kick in right before I left for a planned mountain bike vacation to Duluth.  Woe is me, I guess.  My first planned ride-cation was foiled by one of the wettest weeks of the summer in the Midwest.  This one was screwed up by being sick.  The infection came on strong the day before I was supposed to leave for Duluth, my destination, but I went any way.  This was my time to ride on endless new trails for four days.

Duluth is touted as a cool place to ride, an IMBA gold destination.  The day I arrived, a Thursday, was rainy.  Drat.  Instead of staying off of the trails, I decided to ride in the rain, on one of the easy trail systems in the area.  It was fun, even with the rain, and I was treated to a spectacular view of Lake Superior from the top of one of the trails.  It was cold and I knew that I likely was not helping the respiratory infection, but it felt wonderful.  The woods were beautiful and it was a unique place to ride, with lots of built in obstacles and smooth rock, something I don’t get a lot of in Chicagoland.

I chose to camp on this trip, mainly because I had limited funds (divorce ain’t cheap).  A friend and one of the salesman that I work with lives in Duluth, recommended the camp sites at the Nordic ski club that he belongs to.  It was cheap.  Mosquito infested, but the pests were manageable with repellent.  I chose a site close to the lodge, mainly because I didn’t want to tote my stuff back to the camp site that I had reserved (the camping was walk in).  There was another camp site in close proximity, with a tent already set up.  I was going to have a neighbor.

The nights were freaking cold.  And I didn’t have a sleeping bag since my ex has all of the family bags in her storage unit.  I spent all the evenings I was there wrapped in several blankets, trying to keep warm.  It probably didn’t help me resist that infection.

The camp site next to me was occupied by Carl, a guy who had recently become homeless.  He was a nice guy and we became friends, spent a lot of time together around the camp fire.  I got to find out if I have the capacity to have a positive influence on someone any more.  As he told a friend before I left, I had more of an impact on him than I could possibly imagine.  We shared a lot, I witnessed him lure two women to his tent via a dating website (scary, if you think about it at all — these women came to him and in the dark).  My last night there, I bought T-bone steaks and cooked them for Carl and I over the fire.

My second day in Duluth, I felt nasty.  Riding in the rain the day before, with a respiratory infection, then sleeping in the cold, probably didn’t help.  I got a bagel and coffee, then headed for what looked like the best trail system in the Duluth area — Piedmont.

I wasn’t disappointed.  The infection made me sweat like a pig, but I enjoyed every inch of the trails there.  There was something for everyone, with double black diamond loops over some of the nastiest rock gardens that I have every seen.  One trail loop, Admiral Rockbar, was so treacherous that I walked the majority of the trail, but I loved it.  At one point, I descended a downhill trail with high berm switchbacks, something new for me.  It was awesome, indescribably awesome.

That afternoon, I met my friend who lives in the Duluth area.  He took me to Spirit Mountain, a downhill ski area where you can pay for a lift ticket that takes you to the top with your bike.  There were four downhill trails.  I have never ridden true downhill, except for the trail at Piedmont that I rode the day before.

When I get the chance, I am riding downhill again.. and again.. and again.  I have never had so much fun.  I was tired, but I didn’t care.  I just kept riding.  My friend took me out to eat and for beer at a local Duluth craft brewery.  Things couldn’t get any better.

That night, I had the chills.  I woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache and zero energy.  Instead of riding again (it was Saturday) with my friend, I slept all morning and into the afternoon.  I was sick.

Then my friend, Sandy, an old blogging friend who has become a dear friend over the years, came to visit me.  She lives an hour or two south of Duluth.  We spent the evening around the fire, along with my camp neighbor Carl.  I won’t say much, but it was great to see Sandy again.  She has had a rough go the last year or two, but when I saw her it was obvious that she is doing quite well, has come out of the funk she was in.

I left Sunday afternoon, drove 11 hours to Chicagoland.  Got out of my car and couldn’t stand up straight.  Yep.  I was sick and my back was spasming!  The next morning I woke up to swelled eyes and pink eye.

But it was good.  I rode, not as much as what I would have liked, but I rode.

 

 

Stupid Is As Stupid Does

Tags

Humour, life, middle age, mountain biking

I hate it when my actions exceed the threshold of stupidity.

Shut up… it’s not a daily, hourly, or every minute of my life occurrence.

One of the necessities of riding a bicycle, especially when riding off road, is being prepared for a flat tire.  There are some who avoid that unpleasant experience with tubeless tires, but I am not a tubeless guy (I like my tube) so I still need to carry a spare tube, patch kit, and CO2 inflator with me when I ride.  When riding my mountain bike, I have all I need stashed in plastic bags, tucked inside my hydration pack.. right next to the baggie of folded toilet paper.

Sunday morning, I decided to venture to the trails for a BCD (butt crack of dawn) ride.  It was going to be a sweltering, humid day, thus necessitating an early ride while it was still relatively cool.  As I unloaded my bike at the trailhead, the birds chirped merrily around me, greeting me in my revelry.  This was going to be a great ride, I just knew it.  True to expectations, my body felt fantastic as I zipped up the first trail, strong and good-for-me fast.  My warm up always takes me from the front of the park to the back, roughly a mile to a water crossing that leads to a nice, challenging loop of trails.  I got to the water crossing FAST.

The water crossing was a little deep.  Hikers have been damming it up, probably so they don’t get their dainty little feet damp as they cross.  Mountain bikers, who build and maintain the trails in the park, have been removing the dams.  Back and forth, build and tear down.  It has been a dam war.  When I came to the top of the drop into the water crossing, I noticed that the hikers had built yet another little dam.  Confident that the water wasn’t too deep, I swooped down the trail and into the water, my elbow wet as the water splashed around my bicycle.

*Fssssssshhhhhht fssssssshhhhhttttttt fsssssshhhhtttt*

Oh ssssssshhhhhtttttt.  A front flat.  The hikers must have been fighting back, booby trapped the crossing.  No worries, it was a front tire flat and I had my kit with me.  I removed the wheel, whipped the tube out of the tire, took out the spare tube, replaced it, inflated the tire with CO2.

*Fsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhttttttttttttttttttttttttt*

Crud.  I thought I had inspected the tire for the cause of the puncture.  I was out of luck since I only had one CO2 cartridge and one spare tube.  I replaced the wheel, carried my bike the mile or so back to my car.  Shucks.  The birds all pooped on me as I got back to my car, blew raspberries as they flew away.

Sunday afternoon, at home, I decided to fix the flat tire.  As I pulled the punctured tube out of the tire, a thought struck me.

Is it possible that I had put the same tube, the punctured tube, back in the tire that morning?

Intrigued, I pulled the tube I had put back in my hydration pack.  It looked new and unused.

I now have a large hand print on my forehead.

 

 

I Have A Crush On A 29+

Tags

mountain biking, sports, stuff

That’s right.  You read it correctly.  I have a serious crush on a 29+.

Don’t be hating me.  After all, a crush is harmless, hurts no one unless it turns into obsession.  It could.

Her boyfriend let me ride her yesterday, a cushy, plush, effortless jaunt that gave me just enough taste to makes me want her more.  She belongs to him, though.  I will have to get my own.

If his name was Jessie, she would be Jessie’s girl.  Can we pretend his name IS Jessie?  I want to sing the song.

I’m already dreaming about her.  In my dreams we are gliding across sun filled fields of daisies, forever joined together, birds singing around us, guiding us into the rocks, escorting us into the woods.  Heaven on earth, the sweat glistening in all the right places.

I woke up in a pool of drool, my pillow soaked.

She has big ones.  I like big ones.  She is a 29+, gorgeous 29″ x 3″ balloons with perfect knobs.  I am in lust.

Her name is Salsa.  Salsa Deadwood SUS.  I want her.  I want her badly.

Happy As A Pig In Mud

Tags

mountain biking

Chicagoland has seen a little over 17 inches of snow this month.  What that means to trail riders such as myself is no riding trails, unless you are blessed with a fat bike that has studded tires.  That’s not me.

BUT it has been dry since Sunday.  Saturday night the temperatures shot into the high forties, causing us to wake up Sunday morning to a green Christmas.  I went to bed looking at a white landscape, woke up to a clear yard.  Monday was in the fifties.  It has been colder since then, but not outrageously cold (at least for we people who are used to cold weather).

I waited until today.  Waited until I thought it was safe to ride the trails.  BLAM!  I rode this afternoon and it was GREAT.  Mostly clear trails, about half of them completely dry, the others damp enough to cover my back side with mud, as well as a spatter or two on my glasses.  I don’t care.  I got to ride.

Riding was fun, although after three weeks and the holidays had me a bit bleah on the trails.  It was not a fast ride, but it didn’t need to be.

Yay me!

My Wealth

Tags

life, mountain biking

The Job of the Bible was a wealthy man.

Why?  Well, he was blessed for being blameless and upright, he feared God and shunned evil. 

His blessing?  ² He had seven sons and three daughters, ³ and he owned seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels, five hundred yoke of oxen and five hundred donkeys, and had a large number of servants. He was the greatest man among all the people of the East.

I like that Job was celebrated by his family, enjoyed wine and feasts at his home and their homes.  God’s blessing was meant to be consumed, to be shared, a bounty Job recognized as coming from the God he served.  His wealth was measured in the blessing he received — children, sheep, camels, oxen, donkeys, servants.  Abraham, another biblical figure recognized for God’s wealthy blessing, was considered wealthy for basically the same reasons.  They both were blessed for and maintained a steadfast commitment to a God who was very real to them, a God they recognized as the source of all of their blessing.

I am a wealthy man.  You may not recognize that by looking at me.  I don’t have a big wardrobe of fancy clothes, my house is a modest two story and small by many standards, my bank account balance is always slim, my car a nice VW.  I don’t have cows, sheep, oxen, camels or donkeys, servants.

So why am I wealthy?  I have bicycles.  I am blessed by being able to ride them.  Earlier today, I was sharing with a friend here that this riding season has been extended, the temperatures up to December comfortable.  There has not been a single frozen ride for me yet.  If the weather continues like it has been, I will be riding dry trails until the end of the year.  That, my friend, is a blessing.

Now, I don’t have a large stable of bikes.  I am not wealthy in that way.  Two weekends ago, my nice Specialized Camber FSR had a mechanical failure, the rear shock seals needed service.  Considering that I had a four day weekend coming up, I wanted my bike.  I carted my bike to the shop the Saturday before Thanksgiving, my ride cut short by the failed shock, hoping and praying that the shop would turn the repair around quickly.  Since I am a regular there, they usually do.  The shop tech checked stock for the shock seal kit, confirmed that they were in stock, tagged my bike, told me he would call when it was done.

I received a call from the shop the day after Thanksgiving.  My bike was ready for me.  ZOOM!!!!  Amused shop personnel waited for me with my bike out and ready for me as I walked in the shop.  Hmmmm.. maybe my excitement was too evident when I talked to them on the phone?

Three rides over the weekend.  Three glorious rides.  I am wealthy, indeed.

 

Chicken Butt

Tags

lessons learned, life, mountain biking, personal, sports

You know what?

No, not chicken butt.

No matter what happens, Saturdays are very difficult to ruin.  Saturdays most often are my days, days to get all that important stuff done, to ride ride ride ride, to kick back.  I protect my Saturdays, rarely give them away if at all possible.  When my kids were younger it was a different story, what with all kinds of kid stuff and their sports and little trips.  Even then, I always made it a priority to ride my bike, even if it meant BCDing it (Butt Crack of Dawning it).

Today was supposed to be very, very cold, as in the 20 degree range.  Instead, it was 36 degrees when I set out at 8 AM, clothed in fleece lined tights and three layers up top.  I was hopeful to find rideable dirt trails at Saw Wee Kee park, even though there were periodic downpours early in the day yesterday.  My VW carted my bike and I to the woods, found absolutely pristine conditions, almost as if it hadn’t rained for days.  Hallelujah!

My friend, Jon, was already out on the trails, his van the only vehicle in the parking lot as I arrived.  I knew I would find my energetic friend somewhere out in the woods.  Jon had probably been there for several hours.  There is no one who likes to ride more than Jon.

There was one problem.  As I landed my first jump, I heard the clunk of the rear shock bottoming out.  The bike felt like it was riding low, confirmed by a sharp pedal strike a few more feet after that landing.  I pulled to a stop, dismounted, inspected the shock and found exactly what I suspected — the seal was shot.  My ride was likely over unless it was simply a case of the shock being low on air, an easy fix since I had a shock pump in my car.  I turned back to the parking lot as Jon rolled up, followed me back to my car.

Things looked better after I pumped the shock up.  It held full pressure, sat real nice as I hit the auto sag.  Jon and I rolled back onto the trail.  I flew over the first few jumps, felt the rear end of my bike drop.  Sure enough, the shock did not hold pressure.  Ride over.

Jon and I took some time to catch up on things before heading back to our cars.  I had news for him, news that shocked the snot out of him.  We talked about it for a while and I assured him that I am OK.

Good thing my bike shop is on the way home.  Looks like they have the seals in stock.  I should get the bike back and get some rides in before the snow and ice takes back the trails for the winter.

So I decided this was going to be a day to get things done.  I did.  Cleaned up the back yard, repaired a window and screen, finally moved that useless treadmill out of the upstairs master bedroom and sold it on Craigslist, put together a list of supplies needed for repairs around the house, straightened up the back yard shed.  The treadmill ended up sticking in the maximum incline position when I tested it in the garage, so I gave it away instead of selling it — but it’s gone.

I built a nice little fire in the fire ring, enjoyed a conversation next to the fire with my friend Gina when she brought my spare mountain bike over for me.  Perfect timing for her to bring it back.  Gina teaches mountain bike skills classes for the local mountain bike riding association, had borrowed my spare to use with her students.  Great timing.  Now I can ride tomorrow.

It’s a quiet evening, solitary and good, my music keeping me company as I write, my orange and white feline friend warming in my lap.  Saturday is always good, almost impossible to ruin.

Stay thirsty, my friends.