Friday, October 11, 2013

Self Selection

Sunday dirt surfer
Self-selection is what happens when you take a diverse population (people, fruit flies, white mice, whatever) and select all the individuals that share a common trait. You might breed them to accentuate the trait or maybe just lock them in a cage together to see what happens.

I lived in that cage for two incredible weekends this fall. First in Vermont, then again two weeks later in central Pennsylvania. Each time we took a group of 10 to 17 individuals (people, not fruit flies) with diverse backgrounds, temperaments, abilities, genders, tastes, walking abilities, and sleeping habits and forced them into close proximity for 72-96 hours. The result was pure magic, food for the soul, memories for a lifetime, a respectable amount of dirty laundry, and enough empty microbrew bottles to fill a couple construction dumpsters.

Eviscerated X-Kings
I suppose there are other selection criteria you could use, like astrological sign or political party or favorite football team but I bet they'd be boring groups by comparison. Too much or too little in common. I've been dabbling in this mountain biking culture thing for a few years now and I have found it to be the best self-selection criteria for a guaranteed good time, bar none.

I saw it all weekend long, but it really clarified for me Saturday night with seventeen souls relaxing around the campfire enjoying a bottle of root. The easy conversation, a couple of guys truing a taco'd front rim by firelight. Those will be enduring memories for me.

Next-to-last slice of
blueberry pie at Boxxer's
Now I've included Mike's 11-point summary of the weekend in this post because it's less sappy than my drivel above and only a mountain biker would understand half the points which just proves my theory anyway:
  1. Arrive early at Boxer's so you can get their blueberry pie before it's gone.
  2. Stegmaier Pumpkin Ale is the most bestest pumpkin ale ever.  Word.
  3. Don't skip meals and stand around the chalet for hours in bike clothes insisting you haven't had much to drink, or you'll end up like Jason.
  4. "Flatch" is aptly named and remains the King of all things flatulent... despite honorable attempts by others to dethrone him.  Uh, not me of course.
  5. Who says spare tires are dead weight?
  6. Coffee with a funky name in a 20 oz. French press is like effing race fuel.
  7. If you think a monster truck is chasing you down the Dark Hollow trail, do not panic.  It's only Bryan on his Moonlander.
  8. Martin's fires are not conducive to jumping.
  9. Mrs. Smith of pie fame doesn't hold a candle to Todd's Mrs. Smith.
  10. Stanimals are real.
  11. Never trust a burp.
Chris

"It's only a stinger. Walk it off."
     -- Todd (if he says this, then you might want to consider calling 911)

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

YNP wrapup



Sara's seven minute YNP wrap up. Such a great memory, it made me a little teary-eyed.

Chris

"If you're lucky enough to be in the mountains, you're lucky enough."
     -- unknown

Sunday, September 29, 2013

Shooting the Gap Part II

Forearm is showing
some wear and tear
I tried shooting the left side of The Gap but my handlebars did not quite fit.

This is what I have to show for it.

I think from now on I will stick to the right side.

Chris

“You do something stupid, you gotta act like it didn't hurt"
     – unknown

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Magic Kingdom

Longtrail. Those are hops bushes
behind us and IPAs in front of us.
Vermonters know this remote corner of their state as simply “The Kingdom.” We came to know it by names like Tap and Die, Troll Stroll, Sidewinder, Widowmaker, Kitchel, Skydive, Freefall, Coronary, and Coronary Bypass.

It started with ten guys, twelve bikes, three vehicles, and a nine hour ride. That’s a story right there, but for me personally there was an unexpected side story. We drove past childhood memories in Vermont like Queechee gorge where my sister and I used to drop pine cones off the bridge and count the seconds before they hit the river below. And the White Cottage where we’d stop for lunch with my grandmother during our annual summer pilgrimage to Maine. These memories were striking because so much has changed since I last saw these places as a teenager, but ironically one of the few things that hasn’t changed in all those decades is the simple beauty of a bicycle and a fall weekend with friends. A universal truth reaching out across the decades, connecting me to myself as a little kid…
The caravan at Longtrail.

Our pilgrimage included a stop at the legendary Long Trail brewpub in the heart of the Green Mountains. The table for ten was next to the beautiful Ottaquechee River in the shade of a very large hops bush. The Budweiser truck in the parking lot was a bit of an eyesore but even those guys get thirsty for a real beer once in a while. The pork shanks (a.k.a hocks) were the best pub fare I’ve ever had the pleasure of washing down with an IPA. Basically it’s a BBQ pork lollipop - slow-cooked and flavorful like ribs but with more meat and less mess.

Friday morning we awoke in The Kingdom to a steady drenching rain. Two coffee makers were brewing, biking videos were playing, and there was a lot of studying of Doppler RADAR. The green light came at the visitor’s center around noon when Penny told us the trails were open “rain or shine” and so we allowed ourselves to indulge in one of mountain biking’s greatest sublime pleasures – sloshing through muddy single track and over wet roots in the warm rain. There is something liberating when you surrender yourself to the wet and the slop, this rain ride was one of the highlights of the trip.
Front wheel is braking hard,
rear wheel about 18" off the ground.
If you don't think this could end
well, then you are correct...

The rain stopped the Saturday morning and by Sunday (and four huge loads of muddy laundry) the sun was out for our third day in The Kingdom. Troll Stroll was super-tight singletrack with lots of bermed turns and rollers descending through dense forest. Tap and Die, was a little more open, and a little faster. Both were masterful pieces of flowy single track artwork, we could have ridden them all day.

Sidewinder was a jaw dropping double black diamond uuberpipe. It started innocently enough, then we hit a bit of a traffic jam. I was near the end of our train, the word was passed back that someone was “sort of stuck.”  They eventually got unstuck or something and the train lurched and started moving again. We could not see what lay ahead but we could hear a lot of yelling and whooping, and a couple of blind turns later we knew why. We were dropping into a massive ravine (the uuberpipe) and then rocketing up the other side, then swooping back down. Over and over, each swoop getting larger, the ravine getting deeper and deeper and adding energy to each cycle. With each swooping dive, the bike could compress at the bottom due to the centrifugal force and you would rocket to the top of the next. Again and again. The walls of the ravine were so steep you could not dab at the top of a turn or you and your bike would tumble into the debris field at the bottom. There were a couple people who had crashed or somehow bailed, they were wallowing in the bottom of the ravine trying to avoid getting hit by the riders careening from side to side.
Trail feature on the downhill course
behind the house

Those were the signature trails, but there dozens of other trails all memorable. Webs which wound through a dense pine forest over a carpet of pine needles. A long tough root infested climb dubbed Coronary Bypass. Kitchel which was a steep free ride descent with rollers, tabletops, and HUGE bermed turns. It was the first machine built trail in the network and smooth as butter. So many others.

That little kid I remembered on the drive up would have totally approved of the weekend. He would have loved the bikes and the mud and the stories around the campfire. All of the jokes about Cranston and Dirty Penny and trombones would have been right at his level. He would have been right there with his three dollar bills on the kitchen counter. And the scrapes and bruises would have been tangible evidence of his epic adventure, stories to tell his buddies back home. The simple beauty of a bicycle and a fall weekend with friends…
Our home in The Kingdom

Chris

“Like dogs, bicycles are social catalysts that attract a superior category of people” 
     -- Chip Brown

“Kick his ball(s)”
     -- Leigh's Dad

YouTube link below but note it will not play on mobile devices (tablets, phones), must be played on a PC. I made the effort to assemble the video so the least you can do is make the effort to find a PC to play the dang thing...




Saturday, September 21, 2013

Shooting the Gap

The trail gnomes have been very busy. Yet another named trail at Marsh Creek. I'm sure there's a story there somewhere...

Chris

"Every Ride Has A Story"
     -- Unknown

Saturday, August 31, 2013

Wouldn't this be amazing?

I've always thought it would be funny to start a Friday Happy Hour blog post with something like "there we were, standing in the middle of the woods after our ride laughing and drinking cold microbrews, when two beautiful bikini clad maidens appeared out of nowhere calling our names and bearing gifts of Red Devil Beet Vegan Bundt Cake and locally grown Asian pears."

I mean, wouldn't that be such an amazing and bizarre opening line for a blog post?


Well yes, obviously that would be an amazing opening line. The only problem would be, where would I go from there? What could I possibly use next week to capture the readers' attention (all 3 of them)?

So I guess I'll just end it there. But wouldn't it be amazing?

Chris

"You guys are awesome."
     - Hiker that we passed on our way home (we didn't stop to argue).

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Heady Topper

Alchemy at work on the early arrivals.
That Friday Happy Hour alchemy was at work again, spinning straw into gold. Or in this case spinning partly cloudy skies, a lot of ringworm infested mud, eleven riders and their crude steel contraptions into that slightly magical and twinkly moment of respite between the long workweek and the busy weekend. It is more than the sum of it's parts, but for the record here are some of the parts we had:

  • A new bench-cut ribbon of singletrack (it's a big hit, particularly the stretch through a wonderfully scented pine grove).
  • Four pints Heady Topper (lovingly hand carried by Kirk from the Alchemist's lair in Vermont) which was malty and piney and bursting with 8% goodness.
  • A setting sun reflecting off the lake and making the trees behind us all twinkly.
  • The people (eleven of them at the peak), because they really are the key ingredient and without them, you'd just be standing in the woods drinking a beer alone which I'm sure is one of the twelve signs of something not so magical.

You know the Alchemist is really cooking when it turns 6:00 and one or two people grab their helmets to make an honest attempt at getting home on time and an hour later they are still standing there, intoxicated by the Alchemist's twinkly Friday brew.

Yum.

Chris

“Like dogs, bicycles are social catalysts that attract a superior category of people” 
     -- Chip Brown