Wednesday, 7/5/06 at 1:58 PM
by Jenny Skorcz
by Jenny Skorcz
Back Country Adventures
Last time, I waxed philosophical on the beautiful simplicity and spontaneity of the Front Door Adventure. Now I am embarking on a Back Door Adventure: four days pedaling through the southern Colorado and northern New Mexico mountains with eight girlfriends. The BDA requires planning; a route is discussed, lodging arrangements are made, and packing lists are shared via e-mail. A vehicle is used to schlep our gear so we can ride free and easy for many hours with access to fresh drinks, snacks, and extra clothing only a walkie-talkie call away. When I was younger (and a bit foolish) I resented the sag vehicle; I perceived it as a threat to my strength and perseverance. As I approach forty, however, I have come to terms with the sag. In fact, I find it downright liberating. I carry almost nothing on my person, aside from 2 water bottles and one energy bar. Of course, I have a small multi-tool in my saddlebag as well as CO2, one tube, patches, and tire levers. The sag also makes it possible to include riders who might not have joined the trip if they had to pedal every mile in all conditions.
Six years ago, I completed a two-week, self-supported tour of highways, gravel roads, and trails through the central Rockies along side my former husband. Towing gear-laden BOB trailers we explored the land quietly and appreciated the beauty, despite ripping head winds and sweltering sun. From Colorado Springs, we pedaled west to Victor, then south to Canyon City, west through the Royal Gorge and southwest over the Dewitt Plateau. After several frustrating attempts to locate a public access road through the National Forest we made it on to the Rainbow Trail, which we had to abandon after only two days of riding: our water purifier jammed and our camp stove caught on fire. We were forced to trespass to return to civilization and were chased and confronted by a rancher armed with a loaded shotgun. After chanting a mantra of sincere apology (from me, not my ex) he eventually showed his sweet side and unlocked his gate to allow us safe passage.
There is powerful beauty in the world; bicycle touring provides us with the opportunity to slowly wander across the land and allows us time to wonder about the phenomena of life. We get a chance to experience Mother Nature first hand; she will most certainly bestow us with sunshine and rain, clouds and blue skies, heat, cold, and wind. Driving in a car it is easy to overlook the fact that despite appearances, the earth is not flat (even true for most of Kansas) and a gentle 5% grade into a strong head wind provides ample time for personal reflection, as well as a chance to exercise true patience. A car passenger might rest her head against the window and doze off while watching the landscape wash past in a blur of color. The bicycle traveler, like the car driver, cannot doze, nor will she witness the world as an impressionistic series of dashes and dots. Rather, she will absorb the subtle hues of the western landscape’s colors in the soft morning light. She will observe how the afternoon sun’s intensity washes the colors away and over-exposes the scene. The singing birds disappear as the heat increases and there is potentially a quiet unlike that experienced any place else. That same sun will bake her head inside her helmet, cause her to sweat and work to complete each climb; the sweat will then cool her body as she coasts down the other side. Bicycle touring provides us with an opportunity to be part of a moment, part of the world in a way that often is overlooked during our daily life.
Check out Adventure Cycling, find a trip that suits you, step outside your daily routine and discover your world and yourself.
Best regards,
Jenny
Six years ago, I completed a two-week, self-supported tour of highways, gravel roads, and trails through the central Rockies along side my former husband. Towing gear-laden BOB trailers we explored the land quietly and appreciated the beauty, despite ripping head winds and sweltering sun. From Colorado Springs, we pedaled west to Victor, then south to Canyon City, west through the Royal Gorge and southwest over the Dewitt Plateau. After several frustrating attempts to locate a public access road through the National Forest we made it on to the Rainbow Trail, which we had to abandon after only two days of riding: our water purifier jammed and our camp stove caught on fire. We were forced to trespass to return to civilization and were chased and confronted by a rancher armed with a loaded shotgun. After chanting a mantra of sincere apology (from me, not my ex) he eventually showed his sweet side and unlocked his gate to allow us safe passage.
There is powerful beauty in the world; bicycle touring provides us with the opportunity to slowly wander across the land and allows us time to wonder about the phenomena of life. We get a chance to experience Mother Nature first hand; she will most certainly bestow us with sunshine and rain, clouds and blue skies, heat, cold, and wind. Driving in a car it is easy to overlook the fact that despite appearances, the earth is not flat (even true for most of Kansas) and a gentle 5% grade into a strong head wind provides ample time for personal reflection, as well as a chance to exercise true patience. A car passenger might rest her head against the window and doze off while watching the landscape wash past in a blur of color. The bicycle traveler, like the car driver, cannot doze, nor will she witness the world as an impressionistic series of dashes and dots. Rather, she will absorb the subtle hues of the western landscape’s colors in the soft morning light. She will observe how the afternoon sun’s intensity washes the colors away and over-exposes the scene. The singing birds disappear as the heat increases and there is potentially a quiet unlike that experienced any place else. That same sun will bake her head inside her helmet, cause her to sweat and work to complete each climb; the sweat will then cool her body as she coasts down the other side. Bicycle touring provides us with an opportunity to be part of a moment, part of the world in a way that often is overlooked during our daily life.
Check out Adventure Cycling, find a trip that suits you, step outside your daily routine and discover your world and yourself.
Best regards,
Jenny
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A Day in the Life of the Spoke
Dude, it's like I was suddenly knee-deep in mud, watching the gyrating, neon rear ends of my new pals cruise away. Here I was, stuck behind some guy named Big Al on a killer Serotta who basically stopped mid-crank with a mud puddle at his right, did a dirt track stand long enough for me to dab, big time, then took off. Silly me, I figured he'd keep going past the mud, but no, he had to take a breather. I took a dive, and here I am, not pedaling. My hands and knees are black with thick, viscous, Massachusetts mud, and it's wicked cold outside.
"Hey, wait up," I call out, quickly deciding that to gripe would not be cool, especially on my first ride with these guys who work at the Spoke bike shop in Williamstown. I showed up, ready to ride, and hung out for hours while the guys did their thing--finally, we were off to some trail in Vermont called White Oaks. What's a little mud to a dude woman like myself who loves to ride with men like these on a crisp, March evening during my first spring in nearby upstate New York? We're right on the MA/NY/VT border, which means tri-state rides everyday.
I think I better catch them before they totally leave me in this puddle. I put the pedal down and sprint through the field, pass into forest, then uphill to the max. There they are, right ahead. Hoping they'll chill, I breathe harder and pedal faster. Shift down into granny/middle chainring and hope I can hold it. Nope. Granny/little chainring—kachink! Love that shortcage XT rear derailleur. "What's up?" I ask. No reply. "Dudes, did you see that mud hole back there?" They look at me, then shrugged.
"Don't get your wheel too close behind Big Al," Dave cautions. "He rides kinda funny." Al nods in agreement. I notice some serious road rash on Dave's hip. "Take a fall yourself, dude?" He cracks up. Billy holds up the videocam, and they exchange expressions like, is this chick for real?
"Duh, no dude, I always look like this," Dave retorts. "Cancha see my handlebar's bent?" Oh. He really took a big one. His worn-out, faded yellow Yokota looks like it, too. My little escapade becomes less important. Dave supposedly never crashes, they say. "I was tryin' to jump that stump over there," he gestures toward some mondo fallen tree. "Almost made it, but that branch got my bottom bracket." Very cool, I think to myself.
"We off?" Billy asks me. He sits astride his worn out, size large, black Yokota. "We waited, yuh know." Back on the faithful steeds, we pedal uphill further. Pretty soon, we're cruising up some big rocks in a river bed. I'm walking by this time, straining to keep up. Billy hands off the videocam to Dave, then attempts to catch serious air over a jump. Dave films the whole thing as Billy flies through the air, and lands with a loud thump on the other side. I slowly ride over the bump, and land very softly on the muddy trail. They snicker, but I realize that they aren't snickering at me, it's some private joke. In fact, they are real gentlemen, and I decide to start hanging out with them, cos they actually like each other. Back at the bike shop/hacienda, Al congratulates me on my good humor after the mud-soaking as I ruefully scrape some kind of brown, goopy, suspicious-smelling crap off my shoes. Dave said to me later on after we rode many rides together, "If you ride, you're cool." Plus he started giving me deals on Powerbars which really sucked me in.
Paul Rhineheart, the Spoke's owner, is no slouch at riding bikes himself. He can often be spotted trying to put a dent in the latest mountain bike line he is thinking of selling before he'll display it in the shop. After all, if Paul can break it, so can you. Usually, he doesn't break the bike because they are picky about new lines and generally stick to Diamond Back and Jamis, along with a few others. (They finally trashed the Yokotas, but it took years of hammering.) Paul, Dave, Billy and Andy, who's been too busy lately to ride with us, make up the core group of guys who work at the Spoke. They ride, eat, and drink beer together.
There are always a few women wrenching at the Spoke, depending on who's in college this semester, and who's racing. If Dave or Billy are working, you can talk about everything from the mountain bike industry standards in Marin County, California, to what's happening in European road racing. It's a truly casual place. Nine Inch Nails, Nirvana, Alice In Chains, Pearl Jam fill the shop's airways as customers lounge about yakking about local races, the best beer breweries, and pizza.
I heard we were gonna do another fifty miler road bike ride up the Mohawk Trail on Route 2 past North Adams . . . . last time we did that, Big Al crashed into an embankment and burned, bending his front wheel. This time, I had enough room to avoid wobbling Al when he first began to shudder. The spectacular crash and burn happened when he lost control of his handlebars, hit the embankment, then flipped upside down, his Trek 2300 literally flying through the air. Billy took the trashed wheel off its crooked aluminum fork, gleefully banged it repeatedly on the pavement, then reattached it to Al's bike. It looked like it was in true. "Damn, you're good," I comment to Billy the wildman. He laughs. I laugh too as we climb into the saddle and laboriously begin our thirty-five mile mostly uphill ride back home to Williamstown. Peace.
Want more? Remember, your derailleur should always sound like this when you shift...ke-ching!
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