Cold, wet ride - pure heaven.

The gravel is wet, and the large stone aggregate of the logging road
is slippery in every way - the knobs just aren't biting. Up, and up,
and up, climbing into the cold fog, snow on the ground in many places,
damp leaf litter in others, waiting to act as the lubricant to reunite
me with the ground. The whole climb is a fight - fight against the
cold air, fight against gravity, fight against iffy traction - a fight
I feel I'm losing. My legs are burning, and my mind is set to
conquering it all, head down, jaw set,
get-up-that-hill-lactic-acid-be- damned determination. And the hill
is winning. I get to the turn-around damp and in poor sorts, "why the
hell did I decide to come out today? Football and beer would have
been so much more fun." Dammit, I'm cold and wet and dirty, and I
have to now ride down the damn hill. Sit down on a rock, grab a
handfull of goldfish crackers out and munch a bit.

The woods are quiet. A persistent and steady off-rhythm of drips
serenades my "lunch", and I swill a bit of warm water to wash down the
"cheese" flavor. Hmm, well, it's always nice to be out in the woods,
I guess. And it'll be warm in the car when I get going, so, really,
so what if it's a little cold? I just need to get back there in one
piece, and then I can get to my beer and football.

First corner, 10 feet down the trail, the front slips on a root at an
oblique angle to the trail. The front decides to pop off the trail,
and down hill. Oh, **** - tuck and take it. Only going at a walking
pace, so no big deal. wipe off the dirt and leaves, get back up, and
start off again, telling myself to take it easy, no need to shave
thirty seconds off the run if I'm gonna smack a tree as a reward. I'm
thoroughly annoyed now.

The rest of the run down the trail is over in a flash - as I relaxed,
the bike became just an accessory, barely noticed as I flowed over
roots and rocks and leaves and dirt. Everything going smoothly, time
slows down and you can see and feel it all - smooth, smooth, smooth.
Where it's all about the ride, and not what's being ridden. After so
many rides - countless, really, I've never felt the bike "disappear."
Always conscious of the brakes, or suspension, or some other detail.
And always picking carefully each foot of trail to go over. And
thinking hard about the next switchback, or stream crossing, or narrow
spot with exposure. Not now; it's just the woods and me, and I'm
barely there.

The trail ends, and it's back to the fireroad. I stop and think - do
I really want to go home? "Do it again!" my mind shouts. No, don't
ruin it - know when to call it a day. Football and beer are no reward
- all I can do is daydream of that all-too-short trip down the hill.
I head to the garage and wipe down the bike, lost in the
just-riding-along in my mind. "Do it again!"
--
Jonesy

Jonesy murmured while asleep:
The gravel is wet, and the large stone aggregate of the logging road
is slippery in every way - the knobs just aren't biting. Up, and up,
and up, climbing into the cold fog, snow on the ground in many places,
damp leaf litter in others, waiting to act as the lubricant to reunite
me with the ground. The whole climb is a fight - fight against the
cold air, fight against gravity, fight against iffy traction - a fight
I feel I'm losing. My legs are burning, and my mind is set to
conquering it all, head down, jaw set,
get-up-that-hill-lactic-acid-be- damned determination. And the hill
is winning. I get to the turn-around damp and in poor sorts, "why the
hell did I decide to come out today? Football and beer would have
been so much more fun." Dammit, I'm cold and wet and dirty, and I
have to now ride down the damn hill. Sit down on a rock, grab a
handfull of goldfish crackers out and munch a bit.


cool -sounds much better than spinning to the BeeGees and Donna Summer,
hurl.
penny

Jonesy wrote:
The gravel is wet, and the large stone aggregate of the logging road
is slippery in every way - the knobs just aren't biting. Up, and up,
and up, climbing into the cold fog, snow on the ground in many places,
damp leaf litter in others, waiting to act as the lubricant to reunite
me with the ground. The whole climb is a fight - fight against the
cold air, fight against gravity, fight against iffy traction - a fight
I feel I'm losing. My legs are burning, and my mind is set to
conquering it all, head down, jaw set,
get-up-that-hill-lactic-acid-be- damned determination. And the hill
is winning. I get to the turn-around damp and in poor sorts, "why the
hell did I decide to come out today? Football and beer would have
been so much more fun." Dammit, I'm cold and wet and dirty, and I
have to now ride down the damn hill. Sit down on a rock, grab a
handfull of goldfish crackers out and munch a bit.

The woods are quiet. A persistent and steady off-rhythm of drips
serenades my "lunch", and I swill a bit of warm water to wash down the
"cheese" flavor. Hmm, well, it's always nice to be out in the woods,
I guess. And it'll be warm in the car when I get going, so, really,
so what if it's a little cold? I just need to get back there in one
piece, and then I can get to my beer and football.

First corner, 10 feet down the trail, the front slips on a root at an
oblique angle to the trail. The front decides to pop off the trail,
and down hill. Oh, **** - tuck and take it. Only going at a walking
pace, so no big deal. wipe off the dirt and leaves, get back up, and
start off again, telling myself to take it easy, no need to shave
thirty seconds off the run if I'm gonna smack a tree as a reward. I'm
thoroughly annoyed now.

The rest of the run down the trail is over in a flash - as I relaxed,
the bike became just an accessory, barely noticed as I flowed over
roots and rocks and leaves and dirt. Everything going smoothly, time
slows down and you can see and feel it all - smooth, smooth, smooth.
Where it's all about the ride, and not what's being ridden. After so
many rides - countless, really, I've never felt the bike "disappear."
Always conscious of the brakes, or suspension, or some other detail.
And always picking carefully each foot of trail to go over. And
thinking hard about the next switchback, or stream crossing, or narrow
spot with exposure. Not now; it's just the woods and me, and I'm
barely there.

The trail ends, and it's back to the fireroad. I stop and think - do
I really want to go home? "Do it again!" my mind shouts. No, don't
ruin it - know when to call it a day. Football and beer are no reward
- all I can do is daydream of that all-too-short trip down the hill.
I head to the garage and wipe down the bike, lost in the
just-riding-along in my mind. "Do it again!"
--
Jonesy

"In the Zone" Cliche, but when it fits it fits. Nice RR.

Cheers,
Shawn

Jonesy wrote:

The gravel is wet, and the large stone aggregate of the logging road
just-riding-along in my mind. "Do it again!"

After a morning on the stationary bike, and an afternoon of shopping and
errands, that RR was *EXACTLY* what I needed.

I can empathize with the front wheel washing out on ya. Last summer I
washed out the front wheel 6 times in two loops. Four of them happened
on one trip around the loop. Three of those happened in less than five
minutes.

CRasH! Down he goes, and up he gets.

CrASH! Down he goes again, muttering while getting up.

CRAsh! Down he goes yet once more! (This boy has all the "learning from
experience" skills of a logging stump)

This time he stays down, muttering something about "Crawling back to the
trailhead, dragging my bike behind me, would be better than this".

Thanks again Jonesy!
--
NOTE: to Reply to this, remove the phrase "NOSPAM"
from my "Reply To:" address, or it will be returned.

- Rog

On 8 Dec 2003 11:53:15 -0800, (Jonesy) wrote:

The gravel is wet, and the large stone aggregate of the logging road
is slippery in every way - the knobs just aren't biting. Up, and up,
and up, climbing into the cold fog, snow on the ground in many places,
damp leaf litter in others, waiting to act as the lubricant to reunite
me with the ground.

I prefer warm, wet rides in the winter.

Oh? We're talking about biking!

Neeeevermind.... G

Barry

"B a r r y B u r k e J r ." wrote
in message ...
On 8 Dec 2003 11:53:15 -0800, (Jonesy) wrote:

The gravel is wet, and the large stone aggregate of the logging road
is slippery in every way - the knobs just aren't biting. Up, and up,
and up, climbing into the cold fog, snow on the ground in many places,
damp leaf litter in others, waiting to act as the lubricant to reunite
me with the ground.

I prefer warm, wet rides in the winter.

Oh? We're talking about biking!

Neeeevermind.... G

Barry

Maybe after the ride to warm back up!

Matt

On 8 Dec 2003 11:53:15 -0800, Jonesy wrote:
The whole climb is a fight - fight against the
cold air, fight against gravity, fight against iffy traction - a fight
I feel I'm losing. My legs are burning, and my mind is set to
conquering it all, head down, jaw set, get-up-that-hill-lactic-acid-be-
damned determination. And the hill is winning.

Well, your post got me inspired to get out and ride in the mess of wet
leaves, rocks, and blowdown. It was pretty much your ride in reverse. I
finished with the climb, sans the determination part. I figured I didn't
have a lot to prove, being out there all alone. I'd have made it, if it
weren't for some slippery logs & one friggin' 1-inch stick that
unexpectedly caused my rear wheel to slip 'n slide.

The woods are quiet. A persistent and steady off-rhythm of drips
serenades my "lunch", and I swill a bit of warm water to wash down the
"cheese" flavor. Hmm, well, it's always nice to be out in the woods,
I guess.

It is really quiet out there this time of year, isn't it?

First corner, 10 feet down the trail, the front slips on a root at an
oblique angle to the trail. The front decides to pop off the trail,
and down hill. Oh, **** - tuck and take it.

Hehe, at least I avoided that part. Trying to negotiate a downhill in such
a mess is a barely-under-control situation.

Where it's all about the ride, and not what's being ridden. After so
many rides - countless, really, I've never felt the bike "disappear."
Always conscious of the brakes, or suspension, or some other detail.
And always picking carefully each foot of trail to go over. And
thinking hard about the next switchback, or stream crossing, or narrow
spot with exposure. Not now; it's just the woods and me, and I'm
barely there.

A great feeling, to be sure!

--
-BB-
To reply to me, drop the attitude (from my e-mail address, at least)

"Jonesy" wrote in message
om...
snip
- all I can do is daydream of that all-too-short trip down the hill.
I head to the garage and wipe down the bike, lost in the
just-riding-along in my mind. "Do it again!"

Hot and dry here. I'd forgotten all about those cold wet slippery roots and
leaves on my favourite trails. Nice report.
--
Westie
(Replace 'invalid' with 'yahoo' when replying.)