Archive for the ‘Bicycle Stories’ Category
Framebreak Festival, Kentville Nova Scotia
Three degrees in late September. Four laps including the stadium climb. Twenty nine years old. These would seem like three fairly disjointed statements were it not for me. I had decided that this was the morning for my first race.
As I left the house my wife presented me with a Green Hippo horn, “on the off chance you pass someone.” Thanks for the support. She was just pissed because an ankle injury was keeping her from running. So with that resounding vote of confidence, I loaded the trusty bike on to the Wagon and was gone. It took an hour to get to the race. More than enough time to convince oneself of ones own idiocy. I went over it a hundred times. I wasn’t a racer. That wasn’t why I rode. I didn’t need the competition. But I wanted to do this to experience all of the MTBiking world.
Two large Tim’s coffees and a Boston Creme later and I arrived. Young, fit bodies astride high-priced cool race rigs. Then there was me. Steel Breezer, rigid, with wool socks and my hippo horn. Race teams, clubs, families and friends. Then there was me, alone, but wait. My budy Stu showed for support. God love the man he tweaked my brakes and didn’t make one comment about the hippo.
Senior sport gets called to the line. Stu turns on my flashing commuter light, “so nobudy runs into you on the downhills.” It was like having my wife there. I couldn’t help but notice that some of the kids were looking at me and giggling. As were waiting for the start I remember thinking just finish. Go! That’s when it hit me that it had rained last night. The gorge was going to be slick. Stayed mid pack on the climb. Got held up in the singletrack, some of the kids had a hard time with the conditions. Made a huge mistake and went for the granny with a muddy drivetrain and chainsucked my way to a broken chain half way through the first lap. No problem, just pull out the Ritchey tool and fix it. Wrong that’s back on the step at home where you were fiddling with your peddals that morning. So I ran it out to the start/finnish and borrowed a chain tool. I got passed by nearly everyone. Lost about 15-20 minutes. But I kept going.
Reeled in some of the kids on the third lap. Overheard one say to another as I passed them on the grass climb, “that old fuck with the hippo and the light just got us.” Cool. Finnished 18 min out of first in my division. The course was outstanding. Moral: It’s OK to challenge yourself now and again, and never underestimate how much MTBiking can make you feel IT.
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Tips and suggestions for avoiding poison oak exposure
- Learn to identify poison oak in all its forms. I go by the stem which doesn’t change from season to season. Poison oak main stems are orangy-tan and smooth, usually a little wider than a pencil, and the side branches are thinner than a pencil, between 1/2 and 4 inches long, and sometimes slightly rough or bumpy. Side branches never come off the main stem in pairs, rather, they alternate positions along the stem. Also, leaves usually come off the main stem and side branches at the ends, not along the length of the stems. We all know about the three shiny leaves, but that only helps when there are leaves, which is about half the year in arid regions. The stems have oil too, so you can get it even when there are no leaves.
- Ride around all foliage and bare twiggy branches when you can. When you are climbing, you have time to look at what you are brushing through, but if you get in the habit of dodging all branches when you are able, you will cut your exposure, especially downhill.
- If you know you’re going to hit some on a trail, try the Technu pre-exposure lotion. It helps form a barrier that slows down the oil’s penetration into your skin.
- Carry prepackaged wipes like baby wipes. When you know you’ve hit a branch or two on the last run, stop and wipe all exposed skin surfaces. A squirt from your water bottle will really help too. Put a towel and little bottle of Dawn in the car, and when you come in, wash. Getting the invisible oil off A.S.A.P. is the best treatment, because it takes a little while for it to get into the skin.
- Remember you can get the oil on your otherwise unexposed skin by transfer from exposed surfaces. Get in the habit of keeping your hands and sleeves off your face and other delicate body parts. Wear a sweat band so you don’t wipe your eyes with the back of your gloves (Big mistake!) Also be careful when you go behind that bush! Always assume your knuckles, gloves and sleeves have been hit, and keep them away from your legs and fly too. Ladies need to take care when pulling down shorts not to rub your exposed shorts or sleeves down your hips or thighs.
- Wear long pants and sleeves when the weather permits, and learn how to take off your clothes when you’ve been out in the poison oak. You want to keep the outside of the fabric away from your skin! Don’t forget on laundry day what you are handling! Assume your shoes are always contaminated. Wash your hands after tying the laces.
- Whenever you can, shower A.S.A.P. in cool water, because heat opens your pores.Use a lot of suds and scrub gently.
- Scratching makes the blisters worse, and really doesn’t make it feel any better. Once you’ve washed the oils off, scratching won’t make it spread, even if the blisters are oozing. Some areas may take a few days to erupt in blisters, but it’s from exposure to the oil, not your body fluids. Try an ice cube instead of your fingernails for relief.
- Go see your doctor and talk about your chronic poison oak exposure. Having a good strong steroid cream like 2.5% hydrocortisone on hand to apply early can reduce your reaction. Apply several times a day and try not to scratch. It will help dry it out. If you really get nailed, like from landing in a bush, you may want a cortisone injection or oral steroids, and it’s better to get treated early than when you are really miserable. Antihistamines like benadryl also help reduce your allergic response. Note: steroids inhibit your immune system. Keep them out of dirty wounds that may get infected, or you could end up with a run away infection. Cover last week’s cuts and scratches with a band aid or bandage to keep poison oak out. Beware of hot, red and very tender wounds and use an antibiotic ointment, not cortisone.
- Call out when you see it to warn the riders behind you to take evasive action.
- Go volunteer to work on trail days if you don’t get poison oak! We need you to help cut it back off the trails for the rest of us, and you earn lots of bonus points for your community service. We will love you for it, really!
Not so much Road Trips: Porcupine Rim Trail Adventures
Not so much Road Trips; “Eight hours into the Porcupine Rim Trail and we decided to pick up the pace.” This sentence leads me to two conclusions; one they are aliens, and two, even given that weird kind of ability, I’ll never be allowed to have that kind of vacation. Think about it. “Honey, can I take all the vacation money and head across the continent and possibly kill myself in some remote MTN biking Mecca?” he asked from behind the fridge door cowaringly.
But this is the scene I am inundated with every time I pick up a magazine or watch alittle Fattrax. I am sure that there is epic quality riding in Moab, Crested Butte, etc., but that I’ll probably never see it. Does that mean that I should feel less then fulfilled as a MTN biker? Yeah probably.
The need to travel is endemic to all of us who MTN bike. If not the North Shore in Vancouver then where? News Flash! Maybe you can find adventure closer to home. In my own province of Nova Scotia, there are two rides I have heard lots about but had never found the time for. The first is less then two hours down the road in the Wentworth Valley, and the second on Cape Breton Island in a town called Mabou.
Man is not an Island unto himself. Plus I don’t carry any tools. Therefore an accomplise was called for. Every hero needs a sidekick. I the Calfless Wonder have, dun dun dun dah, Mango Man. After noticing the Ride Beacon was in the sky our two heros loaded the Yellow Submarine and hit the road. (The Yellow Submarine is a classic 91 Toyota Previa.) Apparently the marriages were going to surrive our little adventure for we had tacit approval from our ever understnding and tolerant Life Partners.
“Mango, did you remember the beer, the tools, the tent, the bags, the food, the pump, the map, the cell phone, the ball gloves, the Sega, the beer, the mud tires, the beer, and the lights?”
“Why yes Wonder I did.”
“Cool, I got my lucky hat, I guess we’re good to go.”
“Yes Wonder it appears so, but did you remember your Tony Kid Calf Shaper?” snickeringly jabbed Mango Man.
“Funny man! But who’ll be laughing when your broken down on the trail and you have to come crawling to…(it was that second that The Calfless Wonder realized he couldn’t even change a tire and relied completely on his sidekick for mechanical asssistance and stammered…)”Just drive.”
“Yes of fearful freak.”
“For the last time it’s fearless friend!”
Two pastry breaks and one hour and fourty minutes later our heros arrive in Wentworth at the Valley Inn. A weirdly tucked out of the way joint, reasonably priced and used to the antics of Sky-bums and Dirt-Heads. Unloading the Yellow Submarine our heros could not contain they’re glee and performed the little known, soon-to-be-mountain-biking-on-an-unknown-trail-staying-in-a-hotel-room-drinking dance.
Well that its it so far. I’m actually going to ride the trail. Stay tuned for the continuing road trip adventure of The Calfless Wonder and Mango Man.
The best biking experience of this young year happened for me the other day. First let me provide some background info, the 411 as our friends at Bike Magazine like to term it. I’m nearly thirty and the only activity that I’ve ever partaken of even closely resembling aerobic is mountain biking. I’m an ex plate-head (weight lifter), with baseball leanings. My wife on the other hand runs incessantly, always has and always will. Second only to running as her favorite past-time is pestering me that I never run with her and Chester (our freak dog).
Just recently the weather here on the East Coast went truly wintery (I had ridden three times a week up until Christmas). Add to that the fact that the Breezer and the winter bike – my wife’s old Giant; an unsuccessful foray into mountain biking – were both on the verge of major mechanical repair and one arrives at the saddest of all phenomenoms, the ‘husband-cave-in’. I ran.
Sure I know, no better cardio fitness, weight bearing, but this is running – without being chased. I hate running. I’m not built to run. Most importantly, its not fun. Well here’s the thing, it hurt and all, but I had a ball – outdoors with my wife and dog. Our two separate passions are a good thing for our marriage. Healthy couples need interests outside of each other. But our busy lives coupled with my 3-5 bike rides a week and her daily runs had recently been making both of us feel a little isolated. I mean I married her because I love her company. It was great to be with her. And she was great. Just the right amount of encouragement mixed with competition. It was also really cool to reaquaint myself with my accomplished wife. I tend to forget sometimes that she’s incredibly good at things other than picking husbands.
I know, have I forgotten that this is a mountain biking site. No. Here’s the point. I hadn’t even realized it but the bikingwas getting stale. Ride to get better, to keep the beer-gut at bay, because everybody is fitter and more technically proficient. What about why we all fell in love with mountain biking – because it’s shit eating fun. I had a great time running with my amazing wife and our dog. As a matter of fact I have since ran for two weeks straight. I have never wanted to bike more in my entire life. Come on January Thaw!
Morals:
- Unless you’re training for the Olympics or are paid to ride don’t forget to enjoy other activities.
- The people you love might miss you – you freaking dirt head you… hell you probably miss them if you think about it.
- Mountain biking should always be fun.
There will come a time for all of us when we are fully responsible for a beginner rider (at least we think we’re responsible). With this comes the tension of watching every mistake that rider makes. I recently was blessed with this responsibility and here’s the story.
As the weekend rolled around, anticipation grew because I had friends from out of town who were visiting. They live about four hours away and don’t get to ride with them often. They arrived with another of my old friends whom I hadn’t seen in years. This guy is like a 70’s ghetto stud if you can imagine that. Anyway, I let him ride my old Paramount RS3.0 since that’s the whole reason the others were coming down to visit. We arrived at the trailhead which is in some old farmers pasture and believe me, old farmers like to talk. He said my VooDoo Canzo was “pretty salty”. Cool.
We are ready to ride. We aren’t ready to ride. Beginners shoe comes untied, oh well, it happens. A slightly technical section comes upon us and I let the rest of the pack go ahead and ride behind the newbie. He did great through the whole thing. Using body English, low speed manuvering, good bike handling skills all around. So maybe I don’t really need to watch him that close after all!
Now the ride has come to the middle of a priarie with a four foot creek that the group must cross. We ride all along the legnth to find the most attractive place to cross. The whole pack splashes across the creek except for the newbie. No, he’s speeding full throttle toward the creek at a uncrossable section. An attempted bunnyhop fails and turns to catastrophy in an instant. Here is the new rider, laying on the ground and bleeding from the mouth. We circle around him to make sure he will be alright like vultures around a dead coon. Tooth through the lip and a bloody lower lip were luckily the only injuries he sustained.
On the other hand, cracked frame. I celebrate and rejoice for him. First ride and he has a major equipment failure, or was it Mountian Dew commercial syndrome? Yes, you can get really hurt at this sport. Yes, it can be dangerous at times. No, we don’t need to be exploited as mindless idiots with really nice insurance companies. I really believe this is becomming a problem. My friend, as groovy as he may be, thought of us like that. All we did was go down hills as horrific speeds because we were addicted to adrenalin. We have jumps the size of houses built all over cause we need to get mass amounts of air and get bikes stuck in trees. Am I crazy for being slightly pissed at some select large companies who portray mountian bikers as morons?
This Halloween, a friend of mine had a trick or treater come to his house with a bike helmet on, torn oversize clothing all stained in red, and a fake cast on his arm. When asked what he was supposed to be he replied, “I’m a mountian biker”.
Watch for this. Think about it. Don’t support those who give us this mindless image. Join I.M.B.A. Walk a trail and see how aggrivated a hiker can become an bikers. Just think about how wonderful our sport is, how much better it could be. Remember, being a consumer, you vote every day.