Roots, Rock, Reggae

It's been a long time since I've cruised my local trails. With all my training being done on the road, the only time I ride my SS is during races. For today, my coach gave me the go ahead to take a leisurely spin through the woods. So I jumped at the opportunity to load the race machine into the van and headed straight away for Washington Valley Park. My racing experiences have taken me to many far away and amazing places with awesome vistas and the most pleasurable single track one could ever dream of, but there's just something about returning to your local digs and being reunited with my old friends. It was nice catching up with the stream crossing, shaking hands with the outstretched arms of overhanging tree branches, and hugging the switchback turns.

I had forgotten how technical Chimney Rock is. Perhaps not as much as other parks like Ringwood, but there is hardly a section of plain dirt that isn't covered with exposed rocks and roots. A benefit to not having ridden at CR in so long is that my skills and fitness have improved greatly since the last time I was there. I took great pleasure in cleaning all the rock gardens, stream crossings, and all the technical sections that used to see me clipping out and regretfully and shamefully walking over.

When I ride, aside from my own thoughts that are often voiced out loud, there is always a song or two in my mental playlist to fit the occasion. I usually like to listen to reggae music when I'm feeling happy because it boasts such a positive vibe and a groove you can just move to. The song "Roots, Rock, Reggae" by Bob Marley came into my head for obvious reasons as I did the 29er shuffle over my rooted and rocky dance floor. The rocks chattered and the protests of the snapping roots sent all the furry woodland critters running for their lives.

It was great to ride off road for once without the pressures of being in a race. Even though I gladly took familiar sections at full speed, it was simply for the fun of it. I liked being alone, moving at my own pace, and being able to experience the outdoors in my own way. I don't know how long it will be before I can do another training ride in the woods, but I know I will be looking forward to it.

He who has the most fun...

Vanzilla makes its first race appearance.

One last look at a clean drivetrain.

Team DRV sticker, guaranteed to scrub 10 seconds from your ET.

I sculpted a bike out of mud.

Lips pressed tightly together, a lesson learned in the first few minutes after being forced-fed a hearty serving of minerals.

I usually don't hot dog it during a race in the event that I may wipeout, but I was really feelin' it and having so much fun that I just couldn't keep the front wheel down.

In some circles, the term "mudslinging" carries a connotative definition. At last Sunday's Dark Horse Gallop, there was certainly a lot of mudslinging going on, but of the ultimate, super awesome, fun kind! If any of you have been privy to the abysmal, unseasonably cold, rainy weather we've been having, you can imagine how disastrous the trail conditions might have been. If I have described the last two races as muddy, they may as well have taken place in the Sahara Desert compared to this one. Now, even though I overheard many complaints about racing in such conditions, there are some sick people out there (myself included) who absolutely love mud! This race was, without a doubt, the most fun I have ever had on a bicycle. Period. I think as children, some of us took a certain pleasure in getting ourselves dirty. There was no shame in having mud in your hair or stained clothes like there is when we're adults, lest we be viewed as unclean by our peers. I will never be one to say that I've lost touch with my inner child, but even though I've resisted, in some ways society has made me feel a bit grown up.

Last Sunday, my inner child and I were reconnected once more as we plowed our way at full speed through giant puddles of chocolate milk and peanut butter-like mud of a consistency that makes this awesome splattering sound when tires roll through it that only a mountain biker could know. There was no room for avoiding any hazards this day. There was no way around it... we were going to get irrevocably filthy effing dirty, and with that acceptance early on, that inevitability was met with an immense feeling of freedom and youthful giddiness. We laughed as the chilling muddy water sprayed wildly up our back, in our face, up our nose, and into our mouth; carrying with it projectile specs of dirt that dried to our skin like drops of cement in the rushing wind as our churning tires sent a continuous assault while we pedaled tirelessly and incessantly onward.

Although my results don't support this, I feel like this was the best race of my life. My mind and my body were in tune and for the first time ever, I didn't bonk. Perhaps it was because I drank more than usual during the race, or was it the coffee I drank on the drive up? I like to think it was because I was just so thrilled to be there, to have the ability to enjoy such an experience, and to have teeth that looked like I just ate a fudge brownie, that the idea of being tired or wanting it to be over never crossed my mind. Something that did cross my mind out there though, was the revelation of how I would like to spend my future; an activity that ties in all the aspects of living free, traveling, and of course... riding my bike. I won't elude to what it is exactly as it can be fodder for an entry of its own. A teaser! How suspenseful!

By the end of the day, competitors' colorful kits were hardly distinguishable as everyone had taken on a few different shades of brown, depending on their various stages of wetness. I can only hope that future events are as fun as this one. I'm looking at the 7-day forecast and it's not looking good. The Lewis Morris Challenge is in two weeks. Let it rain!

It's Not What You Know

Last Sunday I was working at the bike shop when a customer came in for some new tires. He noticed our calendar near the register in which the current month sported an incredible picture of some singletrack overlooking the cobalt waters of Lake Tahoe. He remarked on how he'd been there and he and I began chewing the fat about what an awesome place that is. It turned out that he is not only from California, but that he was here on tour as the sound guy for Huey Lewis and the News. He enjoyed our great customer service so much that he offered to put any of us on the guest list for Tuesday night's performance. Since no one else was available to take him up on the offer, I graciously accepted.

I had totally heard of Huey Lewis, but couldn't tell you one song he's done. I knew his accolades date back to the 70's, and since I enjoy classic rock, I was sure I was going to enjoy the show. It turned out that I actually know many of his songs. My lost voice is a testament to that. Their lead guitarist was amazing and played some insane solos that melted my face. Not literally. That's a proprietary term. They also had a brass section that I really enjoyed. Jim, the sound guy, did a great job of mixing and every vocal and instrument was balanced perfectly. I planned on calling him the next day to say thank you once again, but was fortunate enough to see him as we were leaving. Smiles, compliments, and handshakes ensued and I wished him well for the rest of his time out East.

It was a great experience and my Mom and I were both glad we went. Sometimes, going into an experience blind is the best way to go. Without any pre-judgments or biased reviews from outside sources, one can be open-minded and be left to interpret it in their own way. This was also a reminder of how much I enjoy live music and going to shows. I'll make it a point to do a little more of that in the future.

A Van Down By The River

Matt Foley would be proud of me. Many of you who know me well have most likely heard of my ambition to attempt to free myself of mostly all financial obligations and seek out an extraordinary and different way of living. Recently, a huge step has been taken towards reaching my goal... I acquired a van. Oddly enough, it was only the second van I looked at, but it came at exactly the right time and in the exact way I had envisioned. It's reassuring when, taking such extreme steps towards the uncertain, things just sort of go your way. A lot of people, including all the "non-believers," spend too much time fretting over all the small details of life in a van or "van dwelling" as it's aptly named. "Where will you shower?" "What will you eat?" "Where will you poo?" I have logical and reasonable answers to all of these questions, but I have not given them much thought. It's not like me. I live by the notion that everything will work out as long as I stay true to my mission, and if it doesn't, I'll learn why it didn't work and how I can make it work. Besides, it's mentally exhausting to take the time to explain how one can utilize a camp shower or a port-o-potty only to have them dismissingly say, "Okay. Whatever." So, getting back to the van. It's in pretty awesome shape and needs no work to make it roadworthy, which means I can dive right in to making the interior space livable. I know a few people who are skilled in different areas whose knowledge will be invaluable during this process. I have great friends who are supporting me and offered their help in getting this done and I am really excited to have all of them contribute in their own awesome ways.

"Young man, what do you want to do with your life?!" I want to live in a van down by the river.

This Is Only The Beginning

Perhaps someday I will tell of the events that led me here, but for now, sit down and accept that you've missed the first hour of the film and you have to figure out the story line as we go. Hold on as we reach a major turning point in the plot that hopefully will build into a satisfying climax. We can't guarantee a happy ending, but maybe in some way you will associate with the characters and even take something from the experience. Welcome to my movie.