Getting Barrelled On Your Bike

Been thumbing through old writing on my computer this morning.   I wrote this short essay for the local newspaper when I was in high school it is about one of my favorites in Bishop, Dutch Johns Loop.  Bikes have been making me smile for a long time.

Inhaling deeply the burn in my stomach subsides, cool air fills my lungs and I shift into the higher range of my fully rigid nine speed mountain bike, exhale with pleasure. Now settling into the smooth cadence of a long mountain climb massive views of the Owens Valley below greet me and the sky wispy with stratus clouds seems to expand beyond infinity. On this fall afternoon I will ride to over 8,000 feet above sea level and still be dwarfed by my western surroundings of multiple 13,000 foot peaks. Living in the Eastern Sierra this is more often the case than not. No matter how immense the tasks we take on in these surroundings, our efforts and accomplishments never exceed the amounts of beauty we experience while out.

For nearly an hour I continue upward, my legs burn with every downward stroke of the peddle as my bicycle crawls over a mix of granite cobbles and wheel swallowing sand. The four wheel drive road bully’s me from one tire track to the other.  I find solace in sighting a group of Mule Deer. Two does that are moving with there fawn bound across the road no more than twenty five yards ahead.  The climb and pain along with it simply disappear for a moment. Inspired by the deer’s skillful navigation through the dense sage and scattered rock, I am forced to refocus my attention ahead. Carefully picking the most efficient line and riding with more grace and precision than ever before.  The climb is made much easier, and dare I say enjoyable.

Eventually rubber meets the packed and tacky soils left behind by the previous night’s rain fall. Here the double tracks grade lessens, beginning to contour flawlessly with the undulating terrain.  My largest chain-ring comes to use as I brake out in a heavy winded sprint. Bunny hopping boulders and railing turns with aggression I descend into a creek drainage. It is exploding with the hues of fall. Aspen forest engulfing me, the tunnel of yellow, red and orange becomes a constant blur. I enter a trance like state resulting in effortless flow.  Body position and tire pressure are the only things I rely on to absorb the terrain ahead.  The feeling is that of Ecstasy; a surfers perfect barrel, a skiers coldest powder snow face shot, something that has to be felt to be believed.

A similar wave exists in Colorado. Gavin took this photo of me getting barrelled on Lowline Trail last fall.

At the end of my ride there will be no podium, no beautiful woman waiting to hand over a champagne bottle, and that is just fine by me. In the Sierra’s the magnitude of your efforts can never surmount the beauty you are surrounded by, but there is no defeat in that. On this ride my only competition is myself.  The only beautiful woman I am seeking is with me the entire time, Mother Nature and her fresh water streams are the greatest reward I could ever receive and one of the many reasons I ride my bike.