My mental image of "muddy" has been redefined.
I was under the apparently wrong impression that a couple of days
without rain would be enough to clear some of the trails. That, or it
rained when I wasn't looking. Eric and I headed off to the trail that
seemed most likely to have drained quickly in the last few days.
At the trailhead, a guy returning from the ride said it was muddy.
Extremely muddy. I had second thoughts; didn't want to damage the
trail. To some extent, probably didn't believe him. And with the number
of bikes in evidence, it was easy to tell ourselves that two more bikes
wouldn't make much of a difference. We decided to go for it, figuring
that we could always turn around if it got nasty.
It certainly didn't look muddy at the outset. My main observation was that
all that practice at altitude for the race had done me some good -- the climbs
were a lot easier than they used to be.
First exciting moment was when I heard a strange sound, then saw a snake tail
slithering back the way I'd come. "Whoa!", I exclaimed, and kept riding.
Eric later pointed out that I'd just ridden by a rattlesnake and that it would
have been nice for me to shout "Snake!" rather than letting him find an
already-nettled snake on his own. Fortunately, nothing came of it.
I also worked on my biking karma by offering a pump to a guy with a flat. He
said he'd brought the wrong pump ... whatever that means.
Anyway, once we'd gotten far enough to feel pretty well committed, the mud
commenced. Oh, sure, it started in small, manageable portions, and got deeper
and wetter gradually enough that there was no obvious "this is it" spot. Till
I found myself stopped in a mud bog. I put out a foot to stop myself from
falling, and my shoe went under. Yuck.
I made whiny sounds and suggested going around it to the right, where I
could see other tracks. Eric pointed out that the trail used to be
considerably narrower on the right, and those tracks had widened it. No
way was he going to let me do the same thing. I pointed out that my
foot would go in past my ankle if I walked it. He didn't budge. He was
right, of course. (I don't say that often!) He gave me two choices: go
through the middle, whether on bike or on foot, or turn around. I
finally pushed my bike through the mud; he rode. On we went. Through some
miracle, I didn't lose a shoe.
Riding in mud forced me to learn, or at least begin to learn, a whole new set
of skills. Getting used to having my tires pick new, creative lines by the
simple expedient of sliding several inches to one side, for example. I did
pretty well, I think. Yes, there were some spots where I stopped when I
probably should have been able to keep pedalling and power my way through, but
for my first time dealing with serious mud, I think I did okay. And I made
damn sure not to widen the trail. After both feet were caked in mud, it was a
lot easier to suck it up and actually start enjoying the experience. Fun in a
little-kid kind of way.
I should clarify that it wasn't all mud. There were nasty mud sections, but
also extensive bone-dry sections. More dry sections than muddy, but the muddy
ones stick in my mind. Those and the loose rocky ones.
Got to the loop part of the lollipop and rode around it. For the first time
ever, I rode the second, uphill half of the loop without a single stop. I
learned to enjoy riding through the mini-ponds on the trail.
Now, the part I'd been dreading -- downhill through mud. Dreading because I
knew that I wouldn't be able to brake as usual; in fact, I'd have to be
pedalling to get through the muck. But in a surprise turn of events, I rode
through every single mud obstacle from top to bottom. I did stop in front of
the scariest one, a drop into a short mud section lower than the rest of the
trail. Rolled my bike back a few feet and went for it, sure I would get my
front wheel wedged off of the drop and endo. Kept my body back, though, and I
made it. Huge rush clearing something you're not sure you can do.
The rest of the ride is a blur. All I know is that I was grinning from
ear to ear, splashing water and mud on myself with abandon as I powered
through mudpits and pedalled down sections I'd normally brake through.
I even cleaned my nemesis switchback, the one I've never gotten around
on the way down. As I pulled up next to the car, I was still grinning.
Looked at myself, my bike, Eric and his bike -- all covered in mud. It
was awesome fun.
I think the clipless thing is finally getting through to me. I was clipped in
for all but a couple of very brief sections. I feel better when I'm attached
to the bike, which is definitely new and I think developed while prepping for
the race. It seems to be a lot easier to let myself slip my foot off the
pedal and stop when I'm out of the pedals; when I'm clipped in, it's mentally
easier to keep going, and I get through stuff I wouldn't think I could manage.
Anyway, went home and washed the bikes, lubed the drivetrains. My
brakes were making horrific grinding noises, but Eric suggested that a
ride around the block would take care of them. I was skeptical, but it
worked. Still have to figure out a weird resistance while pedalling;
hard to explain. Seems to be worse in some gears than others. Maybe
more riding will clear it up.
I don't know. Eric doesn't seem to think that mud riding causes much
damage as long as you don't widen the trail. I have trouble believing
that. This was fun, but I will stick to the road for the next little
bit; I wouldn't purposely go to a trail if I thought I would damage it.
We saw a lot of folks out there, more than usual, actually, and a lot of
them were definitely riding around the trail, even where the mud was
pretty minimal. I thought about telling them to stick to the middle,
but they'd probably just look at me like I was nuts.
Weird feelings, here. Proud of my accomplishments; guilty for lacking the
intestinal fortitude to go home rather than riding in mud.
--
monique
"Get a bicycle. You will not regret it, if you live."
-- Mark Twain