There’s a giant downed log on the top loop that keeps hitting me in the head. The concussions inspired me to apply the mileage to two rounds in the trail to drink in the full colors of Autumn. The Ripmo and I met people, chatted, chewed up some dirt and marbles and then we dropped some psi and found grip where previously there was none.
We’re spending Labor Day Weekend with my wife’s family. I’ve got the Alta rack. I’ve got a Ripmo for me. My wife has a Mojo. My son has my old Ripley. My youngest has a Scott – only thing that fits him. I’m spite of being close to Powder Mountain time was not on my side. Like Moses I would not make way to the
Skies devoid of clouds and ongoing temperatures north of 90 degrees have extracted every H2O molecule from the trails leaving billowy piles of moon dust. With my only audience stands of sunflowers observing at attention the Ripmo took us on a magical journey sliding through the moon dust and rolling through the marbles. The ride – Providence Canyon The bike – Ibis Ripmo
It was a snake. It looked just like a stick until the Ripmo almost crushed it and it slithered for its life. My brain sees every root or fallen stick as a snake so I’ve spent a bunch of time training myself to not see snakes. When everything is a snake my poor heart can’t take the stress. Ironically, right after telling myself it wasn’t
I’ve been watching the rides of a bunch of my Strava acquaintances. They are all in France riding all the amazing segments of the Tour de France – past and present. It looks amazing and it’s easy to be jealous. Someday I will follow in their footsteps and climb all the lung busted roads of the Pyrenees. Until that day comes I have to remind
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
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
Years ago after I picked a road bike and had tried my hand at mountain biking I knew that what I really needed was a cross bike. I found a Bianchi Cavaria frame at just the moment when I upgraded the Dura-Ace 7800 on my Madone 6.9 to Dura-Ace 7900. I combined that with some Stan’s tubeless rims matched with American Classic hubs. The Dura-Ace