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From: J. D. ([email hidden]) Subject: Retro RR: Dirt View: Complete Thread (6 articles) Original
Format Newsgroups: alt.mountain-bike Date: 2002-02-06 17:45:27 PST
It was February 1986. I was fresh out of the military ( usafcct.comusafcct.comOpen ↗ ) and was looking for
a form of recreation that wasn't too spendy, yet still satisfied my youngblood cravings for
adrenaline. I had considered road cycling and getting into the racing scene, however my size would
have been a hindrance in almost all disciplines with the obvious exception of criteriums. Elbowing
my way through a pack of cyclists hauling ass on a closed course was an inviting prospect at the
time. Reading the SoCal newspapers at the time helped me decide that getting hit by a car was a bit
too much adrenaline, as there was a recent rash of car vs bicycle deaths. Looking further didn't
take long.
My eldest sibling owned a 1985 Schwinn "Frame Pack" mountain bike (and still does) and suggested I
purchase a mountain bike. After a quick trip to Anaheim Schwinn and a test ride, I was the happy
owner of a Black Chrome 1986 Schwinn Sierra. It came complete with knobby tires, bullmoose stem,
riser bars, and friction shifted eighteen speeds. I never weighed it, but compared to my old beach
cruiser, it was very light.
Not knowing much about the whole scene and not having been on a bicycle for over four years, I
started slowly. The first two months of ownership were spent on the pavement, riding the Santa Ana
River Trail from Anaheim to Newport pier and back almost every Saturday and Sunday. That ride
always included a stop at Hot Dog On A Stick for fresh lemonade and a corn dog. The best part of
those rides came near the end of my break-in period where I would get the chain on that monster
48, stomp on those cheapie resin flats and drop people on road bikes. I knew it was time to
graduate to the dirt.
Where was I going to ride? Thoughts of riding many of the hiking trails I knew that were somewhat
close were running through my head. Most of the really good ones that came to me immediately were up
way high and there was still too much snow in the San Gabriel and San Bernardino mountains. I mulled
over the Mt Wilson fire road, but knew there had to be something comparable closer. The more I
thought about it, the more I began to realize that one lingering thought of a place I knew close by
would be the right choice.
It was a sunny Sunday afternoon when I pulled the old VW Bus up to the forestry gate at the end of
Silverado Canyon. The gate was closed for the season, which was good because my intention of
avoiding motor vehicle traffic while bicycling would be satisfed. The parking lot had only two other
vehicles, so I knew that foot traffic would not really be an issue either.
Trailhead preparation was a non-issue for me in those days. Geared up in my best hi-top basketball
shoes, volleyball shorts and Hendrix tshirt, all I had to do was pull the bike out of the bus, jump
on and start pedaling. No gloves, no glasses, no helmet, no camelbak, no powerbar, no tools, only a
frame pump and water bottle. This was for a about a 2,500 ft climb/descent on a (seasonally)
unimproved fire road. No problemo.
The route was paved for the first fifty yards or so, then it made it's first crossing of Silverado
Creek and turned to harpack dirt. I stayed in the 38 middle ring for the first mile or so, then
dropped it to the stock 28 granny to begin climbing in earnest. A few of the stream crossings were
impassable to me at that burgeoning skill level, so a couple were walked. The ones I did ride left
me wanting to ride the all without a dab, but knew that would come to me.
By the time I crossed the stream for the last time and hit the first hairpin, stopping at the
overlook to look down-canyon gave me a chance to catch my breath and rest the rubbery things below
me that had previously been legs. This was much more difficult than spinning on a gradeless piece
of pavement.
The rest of the climb was a grunt. It had to be a combination of the grade, dark ages gearing, and
skill level that was beating me down. I didn't care though because I was going to make it to my
destination if I had to push the bike, which I did in a few particularly rocky places the spring
runoff had brought out in the track. Arriving at the planned turnaround of the intersection with the
Santa Ana Crest road seemed to take forever, but it did finally appear. A rest and finishing off my
paltry water supply came easily.
Next came the payoff for all of that arduous climbing. I started somewhat slowly, but for good
reasons. Reaching way back into my mind, I began to slowly pick and choose all of those old skills
used during my formative years to pilot various bicycles on even more varying terrain. As it all
came back to me, the speed increased and I began to experiment with this newfound medium of
recreation. The front brake became invaluable as I braked hard into the turns, let go entering them
and powered out of the apex, standing on the pedals. It all felt so natural.
One thing I had done on the climb that helped on the descent was studying the track, knowing I
would be descending what I was climbing. This proved to be invaluable for obvious reasons. Having
a good idea of what line to take made it so much easier than coming in blind. For the most part, I
remembered every turn and was able to apply all of the newfoundand revived skills that were
working so well.
Learning how to "ride light"came quickly. On some of the rougher sections near the top, I found
myself bouncing so hard, my eyes were not able to focus well. For the most part, this was remedied
my gradual braking. After the first few shakes, I used a bit of a bunny hop move before braking and
it seemed to flow into a more manageable speed more smoothly.
The newfound technique of riding light proved to be invaluable near the end of the ride. A smooth
and somewhat steep section coaxed me into really letting go and before I knew it, found myself in
the eyeball rattle bounce once again. Well, lightening once brought me braking down even worse
terrain that I had not been able to see because of the blurred vision caused by the initial bounce.
Out of control, I didn't even think of panic as an option. It took two more lightening/brakings to
bring the bike under control and finally to a complete stop. Standing there alone in Silverado
Canyon on that April afternoon, shaking from the copious amounts of adrenaline that were still
pumping through me, I knew the search for something cool, fun and even dangerous when wanted had
been found.
Not wanting to tempt fate twice, the rest of the ride was at much lower speeds. Spring had sprung in
the Santa Ana Mountains and was in the air, accompanied by the springtime of a lifestyle change and
new beginning for me.
JD
