Over the Bars

I have just about ten rides on the Nomad and all I can say is woah. Woah as in, holy shit this is an amazing and extremely capable machine whose VPP2 linkage lets me do stupid things and take heinous lines that would usually leave a less capable bike wallowing in its own stagnation. You see? Woah. It is built up a bit hefty (to support my own extra heft) with Saint M810 Cranks, 36 Talas RC2, ’11 Codes, but it still pedals surprisingly well and doesn’t wallow in its travel or feel sluggish at any point. The only thing left feeling sluggish and alarmingly winded is the rider. Three quarters of the aforementioned rides have been at the beautifully sculpted, flowy and cardiovascular Allegrippis Trails at Raystown Lake. Last weekend I was able to get a ride in on my home trails and it felt great. I haven’t felt that good on those trails in some time. The dirt was moist in all the right places and the trails were surprisingly clear considering the amount of rainfall and storms we have had. The fallen trees that remained were converted into fun, semi-technical bridges of stumps that grab at your front wheel and do their best to buck you off. After crossing one of these bridges, the trail opens up into a section where gravity is actually in your favor. I rounded a snappy left hand turn at a good clip and was abruptly introduced to a downed tree. My Minon 2.5 DHF 3C shook hands with the new acquaintance while I watched the awkward interaction airborne, from directly above. The stars were aligned to send me straight over the bars: my saddle was hiked up, my rear brake had been shy all day and I was plainly unprepared for the sudden confrontation. I hit the dirt and felt great. Is that so wrong? It’s been a while since I really ate it and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. It just feels like you’re trying hard enough. You know?  Playing it safe yields a calculated and mild mannered ride and there is certainly a time and place for that, but that is not the reason why I go out for a ride. I am searching for that moment in time where nothing else is crossing my mind except for exactly what is happening in front of me and for that that brief second while I was soaring through the air – I found it.

 

Distraction #74

Purpose – It feels pretty good doesn’t it? Sometimes this cool, collected feeling becomes foggy and when it drifts into the mist, we are left with all the crap that makes our daily web complete. Microwave bean burritos, too much beer, consternation toward winter, internet, phones and 300 channels on the tube; an imbalance of the greatest sort. Let’s face it, lacking a purpose blows. Maybe we are missing purpose of the greatest kind, or perhaps we are just bored with the miserable weather, the stale taste of the indoors and the way that daylight seems to be a function of how little we care. When you truly want those precious few minutes of remaining light, they never seem to be there. If you haven’t picked up on it, I feel a bit purposeless. 

Enter bikes. Over the past several dead-of-winter weeks, I have performed a whole host of mischievous and destructive tasks on my bikes, including taking 120-grit sandpaper to parts I normally try to protect. All this sanding and painting and breathing in of fine metal particles and clouds of primer-black spray paint got me thinking – or maybe the exact opposite. Reason has become the slave of my passion for mountain biking. Responsibility of most sorts is hurled out the window as if it were on fire as my ardor takes hold. Even these seemingly menial tasks provide a purpose. Putting in wrench time is just one more step towards the ultimate goal of hurling oneself down a mountainside glued only to the loose sediment beneath you by two patches of rubber. Speaking of rubber (read Attention Deficit Disorder), it might be time for a review of a tire or two. Or maybe brakes. Or cranks. Or hubs. You’ll have to wait and see what I spit out next. I know you wait on bated breath to read what I put on here, so I will make it snappy. 

In my hazy stupor, I have somehow found the time to listen to good stuff like this, recommended to me by my good buddy and purveyor of all things plastic, composite and waterproof; Jake. Also, in typical fashion, here is a quick video with a great feel to it (despite the ending). Best of luck with your mid-week flounderings.

                                         Re-Build Project #1: Fox 40

PS: This is way too good looking. Gasp.

So is this.

Vitamin-D

The sun came out today. God, it felt good. Brakes set up. Shock dialed in. Fork dialed it. Still enduring -ice-pacolypse. Roads ridden instead. Frozen fingers. Frozen snot. Great big smile. Listened to this.  Watched Brendan Fairclough and Curtis Keene shred some sensually tacky all mountain goodness in Santa Cruz. Get me there?

                Day #11 of no trails. Insanity level 9.

The Spark

I've been rehabilitated. Out of this winter slumber and into a dizzying head rush of excitement. Warmth and it's compadre, Sunshine are coming and I've never needed it more. The Big Brown has delivered a gorgeous example of what man and machine are capable of and my heart is beating out of my chest. I day dream of roosting corners and whooping and hollering through the trees as the dirt beneath my feet becomes a blur . This green machine is taking me there and I hope it is not too soon to confess - but I am in love. I hope whoever is reading this can find something of equal excitement to keep them pushing through these slow, slushy days where you never leave your robe. I write from the Robe of Stagnation now, but underneath I have laced up my riding shoes and my Fox Racing Sox are blooming out over the tongues. Let the stoke begin. Give this a listen and let it take you wherever you need to be.

                                                                                         Here she is. All built up.

                                                                                               Here she is close up.

                                                                                       Here she is being stolen.

                                                                                          May have had a few of these.

                                                                                                Living Arrangements.

                                                                                                        Trails Await...

Porn. Bike Porn.

Nothing like being exiled to the confines of a desk for the first nice day in weeks. I am a firm believer that being inside, in general, is pretty shitty. All of my energy, instead of being focused on the task at hand, goes to projecting an almost tangible image of trails in the forefront of my mind. I can feel the burn of the first climb, the innate urge to smile, hoot and holler down the first fast and flowy section... And then almost as quickly as the image popped into my head, it is torn away and I am thrust full force back into the calculated monotony of Monday afternoon. There is one thing that helps me to escape the clutches of mind-numbing boredom and angst; bike porn, lots and lots of bike porn.  Minutes melt into hours and hours into full work days. Frames, forks, cranks, wheelsets, everything Kashima coated and Shimano M980, even Excel spreadsheets of head tube angles and chainstay lengths; they all hold a majority of my brain power, heart and wallet. Enough bullshitting, lets get to the juicy stuff. Is it the color, the elegant sloping toptubes and plunging downtubes, the precision of the welds (or lack of welds), or is it simply that photo from the perfect 3/4 ass angle that is so alluring? Looking at a frame or component, it takes only seconds to recognize whether you want to use your grocery monies and pull the trigger or see it melted back down into oblivion. This is pure aesthetics we're talking about. To be fair, every bike should have a full and prosperous life, don't you think? Regardless, how about some nice pictures from my personal stash? The gigabytes of bike porn that are currently slowing my computer to a pitiful and painful halt, are in a word, extraordinary. Lets take this '10 Turner DHR for example. My right kidney is already beginning to fear the possibility of donation and is starting to say goodbye to its leftish counterpart. 

How about a look at my current object of obscene desire? I would do terrible things for this. Well maybe not too terrible. Ask me if I would do a certain thing for this beautiful machine and I will answer you truthfully. Behold, the Ibis Mojo HD.

Possible build specs include but are not limited to: '11 Fox Talas 36 160mm, Hope Tech M4's, Chris King ISO Disc/Stans ZTR FLow/ DT Swiss Wheelset, Shimano M980 Cranks/Cassette/RD, ENVE (Previously EDGE) Cockpit bits... I could go on for a nauseating amount of time and into grotesque detail, but in the interest of the reader's sanity I will quit now. 

If the HD is not in my future, I would be more than willing to settle down with one of these:

 I shouldn't even be talking about all of this, it is getting me hot and bothered and I need to do some work. Help?

In an effort to help you fellow bicycle lovers avoid the drone of a lecture, the deathly grasp of rush hour traffic or the seemingly infinite span of time between now and five o'clock, I give you THIS. This magical, mind-tingling broadcast was recommended to me by my beautiful female counterpart and partner in crime. At the opposite end of the spectrum from objectifying these sexy rigs under my aesthetic lens, Radiolab broadcasts have provided me with some of the most intellectually scintillating topics and ideas I have encountered in a while. May I suggest listening to the Episode titled 'Limits' under Season 7? A brief synopsis: "How much can you jam into a human brain? How far can you push yourself past feelings of exhaustion? We test physical endurance with a bike race that makes the Tour de France look like child’s play, and mental capacity with a mind-stretching memory competition. And we ask if robots--for better or worse--may be forging beyond the limits of human understanding." The broadcasts themselves are beautifully done and are an aural pleasure to say the least. 

So give it a listen, or go drool over some bike parts. Either way, I wish you the best of luck avoiding another Monday.

Flickering buzz

Well, here it is. My very own designated space for ramblings and impromptu discussions concerning things that make my brain hum. Bikes. They do it for me. They are my motivation, my inspiration, my blood and sweat. I resign to the label of simple machine; powered by two wheels, burritos, beer, good tunes, great friends and that special bite of mac-n-cheese that is hiding all the despicably unhealthy cheese dust. If you don't know what I am talking about, I suggest finding out. That is what this whole thing is about anyway, right? Heading out into the great unknown with but one truth: that you will be ruthlessly pummeled by the universe and in turn, will figure a few things out along the way. I am not one hundred percent sure where all of this is headed, but after serving a few years on this planet, doing my best to escape the reality of my own human situation and the clutches of the universe, I have realized that I am head over heels in love with several things. I love music. I love food; good food. I love letting go and saying fuck it. I love my friends. I love romping around in the woods. I love coffee in the morning and the cool side of the pillow.  And I fucking love riding my bike. There is nothing else that compares. You may protest, "No, there is this one ______...," but you would be wrong. Sorry, it's just how I feel. These things and surely many that remain unnamed, inspire me; they make me glad to get up. Each day brings the opportunity to throw my leg over my bike, leave my troubles at the trail head, spin home afterward wearing a huge, gritty smile and let these magical sounds float high into my cerebellum.

                                                     A picture I will never forget

                                                     <3 Two Wheels. Even Road Wheels.

                                                    Hometown Trails

                                                 The Author