Get Off My Trail
We’re headed to the Tetons today. When leaving town I frequently am required to skip the daily ride because something about not helping with packing and getting ready. I went to bed resigned to that fate. Then before the sun awoke my eyes opened. The Ripmo was restless. Worried that my garage could not contain its energy I could ignore the beast no longer. Slipping
The wind giveth and the wind taketh away. Usually it takes away all my speed and gives me a lot of grief and agony. Last night the air was thick with smoke but the wind was blowing. This morning the wind giveth us cleaner air so we can be friends. It’s nice to ride and not gasp and cough. After a road ride on the
I awoke this morning to hazy skies and brisk mountain air. I find it easiest to decide the night before where I plan on riding to avoid last minute indecision. With all the smoke last night and the barrage of meetings I would face through the day I had told myself that I would make a quick run out to Paradise and back for a
After a late Friday night of binging on s’mores I was sure my body would want to sleep in. Instead, I woke up drawn to an early morning ride on the Ripmo. The orange light of the early morning sun a sign of smoke filled skies telling me somewhere the West is on fire. The rising sun beautiful in the east distracted my mind from
The Bianchi calling my name I woke ready to bask in the serenity of forest and stream. My pathway to zen required slaying the morning dragon. Like Don Quixote I set off on my steed to slay the imaginary beasts that stand guard at the gateway to Logan Canyon. While Don would face windmills I would battle the invisible force that propels the demons of
Cloud cover and morning AC blasting my body was fooled into believing that the morning Utah air would be cool and perfect for a ride. Instead the clouds withholding even the slightest drop of moisture instead populated the air with stifling humidity. I climbed through rock and dust roasted dry by drought and mountain sun all the while dripping as if I had just emerged
Praying as I pedal that this not be the path on which I pass I am particular about picking a path vacant of the petroleum powered population conveyors that power people from point to point out here in Paradise. I pass ponies and pastures. A phone call, Shimano will warranty my cassette but the parts cannot arrive by parcel until July is past and August
In the brisk, sharp, mountain morning air the Ripmo and I started up Jardine Juniper for a marvelous morning in the mountains. Crank turning and wheels rolling over rock and root we bickered about direction. The Ripmo likes to meander around the trail. I prefer to go straight. At one point the Ripmo wanders into a sagebrush. I pull hard on the reins to bring
I used to ride without music. Then I rode with ear buds. Then I started scaring hikers and runners because I couldn’t hear them and since they usually have ear buds they couldn’t hear me. Even when the hiker/runner doesn’t have earbuds, mountain bikes are remarkably quiet. On a lower traffic trail it’s easy to slip into Zen mode. The noise of the world fades
Having backed away from my destructive attitude towards the Ripmo I discovered that most people cover their new toys in all kinds of protective shielding. I made an appointment with the bike shop to have them outfit the Ripmo with all the protective stuff. Think iPhone protective plastic but all over your bike. Whenever the bike goes to the shop I take a detour to