I Love This

The mood was grim - apathetic boardering on bad. Storm clouds building and crossing from west to east and enveloping the mountains. I had a ride with friends fall through earlier in the day - when the weather was more cooperative - so I had all my gear and bike loaded up. I drove out Keblar Pass and made my way to the Horse Ranch Park. Lightning streaked across the sky and the rumble of thunder filled the valley. I was in for the ride, committed, but my motivation and mood kept getting more and more sour. I listened to my favorite music, which helped a little, but it wasn't until I clicked into the pedals and started spinning that the negative buzz faded.

I thought about how Floyd Landis must have felt today with all the world watching him and he just did not have the juice to stay in the hunt. I tried to feel what my body was telling me. Climb. Spin the cranks. Just keep pedaling and pushing the hardest gears you can manage. Eventually the doldrums became a thing of the past and I was climbing back up the pass feeling strong. I flatted about halfway up, but switched it out quickly and continued the ascent. The clouds were north of me, but when the thunder clapped it sounded like it was coming from the treetops right above me.

At the top of the pass the dark sky seemed to wrap around the summit. I saw bolts of lightening and flinched with the booming thunder. I contemplated bombing back down the pass to the car while doing circles in the road. There looked to be a window of relative clearness if I didn't delay, so I charged the roads down the east side of Keblar and up to Lake Irwin. I was sore when I started climbing again, a nagging pain in my low back - like someone is forcing a srewdriver into my lumbar - but I did a quick stretch and kept going. Once I found the rhythm of the climb everything clicked. Sweat poured over my brow, across my lenses, down my face. The climb seemed to flatten with the energy output I stumbled into.

Past the lake, campground, and to the end of the road. Without a breather it was straight past the sign post marking the Dyke Trail and into the single track. Tacky dirt from the afternoon showers gripped my knobbies. Tall grass sprang at odd angles away from the edges of the narrow track and I followed the stripe of dirt undulating through the first meadow and down into the forest. Creek crossings, fallen logs, and the up-down-up-down flow of a perfect trail engulfed me. Some rain fell and cooled my hot skin. Slashing the back end around and diving through the corners, my unconscious need for madness having a sip of what it likes by way of the speed and uncertainty.

I mean, there it is. One can ride at their own pace and have a safe and enjoyable ride, but, for me there is the element of enjoying the suffering of a hard climb. The chaos of needing to go fast through blind corners, or drift sideways between tight trees, the need to let go and just fly. I love this.

The Dyke Trail starts with rolling, perfect singletrack that weaves in and out of meadows, forest, and tight little technical sections. A mountain bikers dream. Right smack in the middle of the ride, though, there is a monster climb. Steep switchbacks, rooted, damp, and relentless. This I also love. Stay on the fuckin' bike and climb. There is no room for giving up - it is all heart and determination. To clean this section is a near impossibility, but the idea of a perfect climb is so motivating. The front end wants to come off the ground and the bike wants to pivot on the back wheel and slam you into the hillside. But it is a wrestling match that can be won. Keep front end down, push my chest as low as it will go and pedal. Make circles as my friend Justin likes to say. What is possible always surprises me and fills me with energy to keep trying. There was no cleaning the climb today, but I never gave up and just kept pushing myself to stay in the saddle and pedal.

The climb ends with a nasty, loose-rock notch into a saddle. Knowing the top is so close is almost always enough motivation to get me through the last technical section. Today I didn't stop at the summit, I took a pull from my camelback on the fly and let gravity have its way with me. Once over the summit, there is not a single climb left, just a twisting swath of dirt winding through the Aspen forest back to Horse Ranch Park. Of course, with the speed comes the madness. And, with the technological advantage of a full suspension bike and disk brakes, the descents are better than ever. It is safer to go into corners faster because the breaking power is so intense. And when you make a mistake the travel in the shocks buys recovery time.

Racing myself, pushing the pedals hard and throwing bike and body into each section of trail is fulfilling something I crave. Focus on the dirt, watch the rocks, and feel the forest just flying past. I Love This!
I do Love this