Sleepy Gap

Spring has broken open across the skies of Asheville. Some rain, but mostly the crisp clearness of open skies and the promise of green. I headed out to the trails on the first clear day I could. The trails were surprisingly dry. I rode out feeling my legs grow stronger with each push. By the second ride, I was thinking, "I could actually be good at this..." and then there was the second ride. We were climbing up a surprisingly long run. It hurt. My legs were tired and I was sure it wasn't at all worth it. Then when we crested the peak

single bird crossing a

deep valley of evergreen

don't forget to love

It was good to remember.

Falling Down

Ice slick to mud pit
Winter riding I'm finding
Beauty in falling


I took my first winter mountain bike ride at Bent Creek. What started out as a fairly low-key ride morphed into a several hour trek up mud, snow and ice covered trails. Up is always a physical challenge, but down is a mental one. The idea is that you surrender to the flow the trail presents, relax into its twists and turns. The challenge for me is knowing that just because I do my part of giving into and trusting the trail it doesn't mean I won't get thrown into the dirt.

I was trailing far behind the group. Trying to learn something about how the bike works in the conditions of mud and snow. The terraine unpredictable, following a logic I hadn't incorporated into my understanding of trail elements. At the end of a slick of ice, I would see what appeared to be a section of earth covered in leaves. I would relax, hoping for traction that would provide a grip to the winding pass ahead. But the end of the section of ice provided no such relief. Rather it provided a mud pit, slicker than the section just rode. There was nothing to do, but hold on.

Towards the end of the ride, brain tired and near physical exhaustion; I crashed. I can't tell you exactly what happened. All I know is that I was upright on the bike one moment and head first in the snow the next. Tangled in the bike frame I righted myself. What followed was panic, anger, and relief. I rode up ahead to find my lover waiting. He brushed the snow from my helmet. We road back to the car. The experience would push us to explore yet uncharted areas of our relationship. To slide around in messy territory. To fall down.

After a hot bath, we headed out to a local restaurant. We ate and drank porter. We laughed a bit and went home to bed. The next morning I was much less sore then I expected to be. The bruises just surfacing.

A friend Greg says, "scars are just tattoos with better stories".

Three Kinds

My last ride was a winter ride on the spur of the moment. I managed to wrangle a playdate for my four-year-old son. He bounded into the home of a friend and I bounded out to my road bike dangling from the back of my car. I wore my riding clothes to the drop off, set my internal timer for one hour and headed off. It was a fairly warm day, no snow or ice. I wore my wind breaker and I was glad I had because the wind was brutal. I road with it at my back for the first half of the ride, knowing full well that kind of leisure had a price. As I road a fairly familiar route I let my mind wander. I started to think about obstacles.

When you're riding on the road there are three fundamental categories of obstacles. 1) Things you know to avoid (e.g. car doors, dead animals, road grates that run parallel to the road) 2. Things that with some experience and skill you can go over (e.g. curbs, large branches or debris) and 3. things that make you say, "oh shit this is going to hurt". The final category can be surprising and can overlap with the first two and (as a much more experienced rider put it, "will change as you keep riding."

There isn't any way to ride roads or trails without obstacles. Hell, part of trail riding and mountain biking is bigger and more technical obstacles. In order to enjoy all the benefits of riding you have to be willing to get hurt. One of the nice parts about riding in a group is that a rider in front of you will flap a hand at an obstacle to avoid. The warning reminds me of flocking birds. My memories of group rides are filled with the hum of wheels and flutter of hands.

As I road that day I thought of all the things in life I avoid because I don't apply the biking obstacle logic to the rest of my life. The black top road stretched out ahead of me. I pushed into the wind.

Not Riding, Not Writing

Over the last two months I've been buying a house. It took me an abnormally long time to commit. Until now, I would have never characterized myself as someone who has trouble committing. But I do realize that when I use the word commitment the first image that pops into my head is of a mental institution. Nonetheless, I've come to think of that free association as just that, an underlying belief that my sanity is tied to freedom. So, I seek things that make me feel freer and teach myself that committing is also a way to be find freedoms not obtained without the initial commitment. For example, a relationship with one lover for much freer than a series of dates if only because eventually you can fart in front of each other. This whole idea runs so counter to a lot of what we have been led to believe.

Committing to this home also means that it's mine. However, the committing has been cutting into my writing and riding time. Which ends up making me feel a little crazy (somehow coming back full circle to that institution image...) I long to get back out on the road or trail. I suspect that the roads are easier this time of year, it's cold as hell most of the time, but you don't get wet or run into slick patches as often. But I just can't seem to be making it happen as often as I need it to. Between the house, my son and my new--yes I'll just admit it---boyfriend I'm completely committed.

Not riding is no excuse for not writing. I'm not sure I can strap another commitment on, but perhaps it will make me more free if I just commit to writing something everyday. To close this post, I'll include the bike-ku from my last ride:

Quick, cold ride through town

Get a movie and head home

Earning some couch time

Uncharted Territory

Last Friday all I wanted to do was ride. I've been working too much and when I've got the time it's raining. I'm not opposed to riding the roads in the rain, but for some reason the roads are always tremendously congested when it's raining and the ride ends up feeling more dangerous than it's worth. To my amazement last Friday was beautiful!

My cycling life is filled with sages, inspired men who inspire me to ride further and harder. I'm not a great rider by any stretch, but I'm plucky and don't give up easily. Jason is a long time mountain biker who is at ease on a bike. He appreciates that I'm not a chatty rider and I appreciate that he'll wait up for me when I'm trailing far behind.

We drove about an hour south to a place near Hot Springs. The trail we were set to ride was an easy one. We planned on taking easy, having a picnic and then heading into town for a soak in a mineral bath. On the way we saw a swath of white smoke marring the deep blue sky. It ended up being a controlled burn near the trail we were going to ride. The Forester who stopped us said he didn't know of any other trails. Another wonderful thing about Jason is that he doesn't give up easily. We turned around and headed up the other side of the mountain. At the top of an extremely winding road we found a trail marker and so we suited up. Tungsten, J's Alaskan Husky, is always ready to go and so am I. Jason has a few pre-ride rituals that we tolerate. Tungsten is most vocal before a ride you can almost hear him saying "come on, come on, come on" .

We head up the trail that is not too steep, but over grown and leafy. The leaves create a slickness and the grass is mushy. Riding up this trail is not unlike running in sand. Tungsten is far up ahead and Jason is keeping a good pace. I'm trailing behind. At one crest, I see the blur of a black bear climbing down a tree. Jason motions for me to stop and I do. I also turn my bike, just in case. The bear runs to the other side of the gulch and Tungsten heads him off at the pass letting him know that today we hold the trail. This is not an area frequented by bikers or hikers it appears.

We ride up into the sunny spot. It's beautiful, but so overgrown its hard to completely enjoy the ride. Nonetheless, it's lovely that not many come this way. We are on the road less traveled.

After the ride we happen upon a rare finding, an open fire tower. It's a jack pot. From the boughs of the tower we can see 360 degrees of forest and it's as though we're in a hot air balloon above these wonderful mountains. We eat a bite and drink from our growler. It's a good day.

Paths you thought to take

often times are obstructed

go with it, in joy

Reading about Road Riding

So, after hearing the interview with David Bryne on NPR's 360 (check out what David is into here: http://www.davidbyrne.com/) I ran right out and bought a copy of the "Bicycle Diaries". It's a lovely red book that, in its hardcover version, does away with the awful dust jacket. Thank you David.

Here's the quote from the introduction that articulates this thing that is so essential about road biking, "the activity [riding bike] is repetitive, mechanical, and it distracts and occupies the conscious mind, or at least part of it, in a way...that allows some of the unconscious mind to bubble up."

That's the space where a bike-ku will come to me. I also find myself thinking about physics and love. Mountain biking on the other hand (which is what I've been doing more of these days) is different. Trail riding occupies your whole mind. It's much more like zen to road biking's transcendental. When I'm on the mountain bike I'm so focused on the trail, the obstacles it presents that I can't let my mind wander at all. There's no bubbling. I would suspect that if you do, even the most experienced bikers will end up off the trail, or face down in the dirt. David's book is about road biking.

Bicycle Diaries is good, but sometimes poorly paced. He manages to be entertaining and to really unpack the places he visits via two-wheels. However, don't go to it expecting a lot about actual cycling. This is to say that it is not the cycling version of Murakami's "What I talk about when I talk about running." which manages to distill the love, laughter and purpose of running. Byrne's book is more like Byrne's music or perhaps, Byrne himself, it's meandering and complex--haunting at times, but never too serious. There is something to be learned from it and a bit to just let wash over you. For what it's worth, I recommend it.

Ride 5

So, one of my life rules (I'm hating this phrase because of Oprah, but it's apt so I'm using it) is to try things at least five times before throwing in the towel. This last weekend was my fifth mountain bike excursion. I've been so lucky in the endeavor, mostly because my riding mates have been extremely tolerant and committed to supporting my burgeoning biking. Each ride has had its own challenges and I have to get excited about the baby steps because when you're an adult and you're doing something new it's easy to get disheartened by how long it takes an old dog--dig?

I've been riding bent creek, but I've yet to be on a solo ride. Jason tucked a map into my camelback and gently told me I can ride these anytime on my own. Like a little fledgling bird he pushed me out of the nest. I haven't had the chance to find out of I can fly yet--rain will keep me in today--but I will.

Standing at the edge

mass of tangled roots, ride these?

you must be kidding.