RR: Can I go home?

My clicking ankles kept me from work and got me to ride. I spent the
morning at the ortho doctor trying to determine just why my ankles are
clicking at every step I take. By 11 am I had enough and accepted his
judgment that I wasn't broken and though I was making noises there was
nothing wrong.
I got home and tried to logic out how I was going to visit mom in the
hospital and get a ride in. I finally decided to ride at my old
stomping
grounds, which is nearby the hospital. I arrived at the trail and
realized that in our almost 5 years of marriage we have not ridden a
solo ride. I was at the park where I learned all about mountain biking
and did most of my riding solo. I began to think about all the things
that have changed in my life. I quickly pedaled on as the sky was
threatening and my time was limited. I have ridden here so often that I
really don't need to
concentrate on where I am going. I pass the entrance like so many times
before. My bike finds the correct turn off and I am left free to gaze
about and think of how so much has changed and yet there are so many
things that remain familiar. I approach a slight uphill S-turn. My
body
knows exactly how much energy to expend and just how much body English
to use to set up for the approaching left turn. I fall into a sleep
walk
like rhythm. My breathing, cadence and movement have all been ridden,
will be ridden. I have no need to think about where I am going. If I
happen to make a wrong turn I automatically snap to and turn down
another memorized trail. I roll over a fallen log that has been there
since I first started mountain biking. This log has been through it's
own changes. When it was newly fallen tree it was a few inches off the
ground and taught me how to get up and over. It gave me my first bent
wheel on my new mountain bike. I have since been through numerous bikes
and now find myself on the same basic type of hardtail. I feel like I
have come full circle. The tree eventually ended up resting on the
ground. It still remained a challenge and then someone came along and
built ramps. The log barely became a remembered trail feature. All
these years later the ramping has rotted away enough to make it a
challenge again. I have gained a lot more confidence since then but the
memorized flutter comes back as I approach it. I fly up to the log
balance for a moment and throw my weight forward. I love the fact that
the old obstacle has gained back it's status as a challenge. I fly past
a recently built bridge. One of the few man made obstacles that fit
perfectly into the landscape. I always miss the turn off to attempt it.
The years have worn into me a different route and though the bridge is
aged I have consistently missed it. I will have to make the adjustment.
I roll into the brickyard and the hills are eroded more than I remember
and the trail meanders to a different rhythm. The places that do
remain
are full of memories. Here is the cutoff where I dislocated my
shoulder,
here is the spot that tops the hill that everyone stops and takes
breathers. I remember a few of the many people I have ridden with and
the many conversations in this spot. I roll up to the hill that our
local octogenarian riding legend fixed with fencing. The hill is
technical and is a deep sandy mess. I am surprised to find a new green
fence laid down in place of the old orange fence. I climb it easily and
remember Frank telling me how he used old bike forks to anchor the
fence. I wonder if he is the one who did this or did he pass down the
knowledge to someone else. Did they still use bike fork anchors? I pass
another spot and remember how I had 'fixed' a cutoff only to find out
later that I removed a trail feature. I fessed up to the mistake on a
group ride. I was forgiven but I also learned something about trail
building.
There is a knarly old hill that is in the exit of the Brickyard. It is
eroded badly and has been fixed numerous times. Everyone I know who
rides it does so pretty easily, but it gives me the willys. I crashed a
few times and had lately been quickly dismounting and running down.
Today I relaxed myself and floated over it easily. The old ghost let me
pass without so much as boo. I continued to ride and every place I rode
I was greeted by memories of rides past. The sun came out and I rode
through sections of dappled sunlight. I eventually rode into Peckham's
loop and sped along at a fast clip. The trail is only visible in ten
foot increments before another turn. I pedal furiously up to each turn
and lean my bike down low. I remember the cloudy day I discovered this
trail and how I rode it out and back 4 times.
Eventually my ringing cellphone brings me back to the here and now and
I
realized I needed to get back to the responsibilities that brought me
back here. Years after I started this sport I see how the changes have
become part of me. The old saying is "you can never go home again". I
don't know that I would want to but it was nice to visit.

Jimbo(san)

"Jimbo(san)" wrote
SNIP
The old saying is "you can never go home again". I
don't know that I would want to but it was nice to visit.

Jimbo(san)

Excellent RR. I've been in a nostalgic sort of mood lately myself.

CG

Jimbo(san) wrote:
My clicking ankles kept me from work and got me to ride. I spent the
morning at the ortho doctor trying to determine just why my ankles are
clicking at every step I take. By 11 am I had enough and accepted his
judgment that I wasn't broken and though I was making noises there was
nothing wrong.
I got home and tried to logic out how I was going to visit mom in the
hospital and get a ride in. I finally decided to ride at my old
stomping
grounds, which is nearby the hospital. I arrived at the trail and
realized that in our almost 5 years of marriage we have not ridden a
solo ride. I was at the park where I learned all about mountain biking
and did most of my riding solo. I began to think about all the things
that have changed in my life. I quickly pedaled on as the sky was
threatening and my time was limited. I have ridden here so often that I
really don't need to
concentrate on where I am going. I pass the entrance like so many times
before. My bike finds the correct turn off and I am left free to gaze
about and think of how so much has changed and yet there are so many
things that remain familiar. I approach a slight uphill S-turn. My
body
knows exactly how much energy to expend and just how much body English
to use to set up for the approaching left turn. I fall into a sleep
walk
like rhythm. My breathing, cadence and movement have all been ridden,
will be ridden. I have no need to think about where I am going. If I
happen to make a wrong turn I automatically snap to and turn down
another memorized trail. I roll over a fallen log that has been there
since I first started mountain biking. This log has been through it's
own changes. When it was newly fallen tree it was a few inches off the
ground and taught me how to get up and over. It gave me my first bent
wheel on my new mountain bike. I have since been through numerous bikes
and now find myself on the same basic type of hardtail. I feel like I
have come full circle. The tree eventually ended up resting on the
ground. It still remained a challenge and then someone came along and
built ramps. The log barely became a remembered trail feature. All
these years later the ramping has rotted away enough to make it a
challenge again. I have gained a lot more confidence since then but the
memorized flutter comes back as I approach it. I fly up to the log
balance for a moment and throw my weight forward. I love the fact that
the old obstacle has gained back it's status as a challenge. I fly past
a recently built bridge. One of the few man made obstacles that fit
perfectly into the landscape. I always miss the turn off to attempt it.
The years have worn into me a different route and though the bridge is
aged I have consistently missed it. I will have to make the adjustment.
I roll into the brickyard and the hills are eroded more than I remember
and the trail meanders to a different rhythm. The places that do
remain
are full of memories. Here is the cutoff where I dislocated my
shoulder,
here is the spot that tops the hill that everyone stops and takes
breathers. I remember a few of the many people I have ridden with and
the many conversations in this spot. I roll up to the hill that our
local octogenarian riding legend fixed with fencing. The hill is
technical and is a deep sandy mess. I am surprised to find a new green
fence laid down in place of the old orange fence. I climb it easily and
remember Frank telling me how he used old bike forks to anchor the
fence. I wonder if he is the one who did this or did he pass down the
knowledge to someone else. Did they still use bike fork anchors? I pass
another spot and remember how I had 'fixed' a cutoff only to find out
later that I removed a trail feature. I fessed up to the mistake on a
group ride. I was forgiven but I also learned something about trail
building.
There is a knarly old hill that is in the exit of the Brickyard. It is
eroded badly and has been fixed numerous times. Everyone I know who
rides it does so pretty easily, but it gives me the willys. I crashed a
few times and had lately been quickly dismounting and running down.
Today I relaxed myself and floated over it easily. The old ghost let me
pass without so much as boo. I continued to ride and every place I rode
I was greeted by memories of rides past. The sun came out and I rode
through sections of dappled sunlight. I eventually rode into Peckham's
loop and sped along at a fast clip. The trail is only visible in ten
foot increments before another turn. I pedal furiously up to each turn
and lean my bike down low. I remember the cloudy day I discovered this
trail and how I rode it out and back 4 times.
Eventually my ringing cellphone brings me back to the here and now and
I
realized I needed to get back to the responsibilities that brought me
back here. Years after I started this sport I see how the changes have
become part of me. The old saying is "you can never go home again". I
don't know that I would want to but it was nice to visit.

Jimbo(san)

Jimbo(san) wrote:
My clicking ankles kept me from work and got me to ride. I spent the
morning at the ortho doctor trying to determine just why my ankles are
clicking at every step I take. By 11 am I had enough and accepted his
judgment that I wasn't broken and though I was making noises there was
nothing wrong.
I got home and tried to logic out how I was going to visit mom in the
hospital and get a ride in. I finally decided to ride at my old
stomping
grounds, which is nearby the hospital. I arrived at the trail and
realized that in our almost 5 years of marriage we have not ridden a
solo ride. I was at the park where I learned all about mountain biking
and did most of my riding solo. I began to think about all the things
that have changed in my life. I quickly pedaled on as the sky was
threatening and my time was limited. I have ridden here so often that I
really don't need to
concentrate on where I am going. I pass the entrance like so many times
before. My bike finds the correct turn off and I am left free to gaze
about and think of how so much has changed and yet there are so many
things that remain familiar. I approach a slight uphill S-turn. My
body
knows exactly how much energy to expend and just how much body English
to use to set up for the approaching left turn. I fall into a sleep
walk
like rhythm. My breathing, cadence and movement have all been ridden,
will be ridden. I have no need to think about where I am going. If I
happen to make a wrong turn I automatically snap to and turn down
another memorized trail. I roll over a fallen log that has been there
since I first started mountain biking. This log has been through it's
own changes. When it was newly fallen tree it was a few inches off the
ground and taught me how to get up and over. It gave me my first bent
wheel on my new mountain bike. I have since been through numerous bikes
and now find myself on the same basic type of hardtail. I feel like I
have come full circle. The tree eventually ended up resting on the
ground. It still remained a challenge and then someone came along and
built ramps. The log barely became a remembered trail feature. All
these years later the ramping has rotted away enough to make it a
challenge again. I have gained a lot more confidence since then but the
memorized flutter comes back as I approach it. I fly up to the log
balance for a moment and throw my weight forward. I love the fact that
the old obstacle has gained back it's status as a challenge. I fly past
a recently built bridge. One of the few man made obstacles that fit
perfectly into the landscape. I always miss the turn off to attempt it.
The years have worn into me a different route and though the bridge is
aged I have consistently missed it. I will have to make the adjustment.
I roll into the brickyard and the hills are eroded more than I remember
and the trail meanders to a different rhythm. The places that do
remain
are full of memories. Here is the cutoff where I dislocated my
shoulder,
here is the spot that tops the hill that everyone stops and takes
breathers. I remember a few of the many people I have ridden with and
the many conversations in this spot. I roll up to the hill that our
local octogenarian riding legend fixed with fencing. The hill is
technical and is a deep sandy mess. I am surprised to find a new green
fence laid down in place of the old orange fence. I climb it easily and
remember Frank telling me how he used old bike forks to anchor the
fence. I wonder if he is the one who did this or did he pass down the
knowledge to someone else. Did they still use bike fork anchors? I pass
another spot and remember how I had 'fixed' a cutoff only to find out
later that I removed a trail feature. I fessed up to the mistake on a
group ride. I was forgiven but I also learned something about trail
building.
There is a knarly old hill that is in the exit of the Brickyard. It is
eroded badly and has been fixed numerous times. Everyone I know who
rides it does so pretty easily, but it gives me the willys. I crashed a
few times and had lately been quickly dismounting and running down.
Today I relaxed myself and floated over it easily. The old ghost let me
pass without so much as boo. I continued to ride and every place I rode
I was greeted by memories of rides past. The sun came out and I rode
through sections of dappled sunlight. I eventually rode into Peckham's
loop and sped along at a fast clip. The trail is only visible in ten
foot increments before another turn. I pedal furiously up to each turn
and lean my bike down low. I remember the cloudy day I discovered this
trail and how I rode it out and back 4 times.
Eventually my ringing cellphone brings me back to the here and now and
I
realized I needed to get back to the responsibilities that brought me
back here. Years after I started this sport I see how the changes have
become part of me. The old saying is "you can never go home again". I
don't know that I would want to but it was nice to visit.

Jimbo(san)Wellcome to the lone wolf real world.

On Fri, 23 Jun 2006 07:27:59 -0700, Jimbo(san) wrote:

I have ridden here so often that I really don't need to
concentrate on where I am going... My body
knows exactly how much energy to expend and just how much body English to
use to set up for the approaching left turn. I fall into a sleep walk
like rhythm. My breathing, cadence and movement have all been ridden, will
be ridden.

What a great RR!

gab