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.
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.
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.
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.
