amount of your time reading about it. It’s been a while since I last maintained a blog and even though I’m sure my life hasn’t grown any more interesting since then, you’ll just have to humor me and pretend that it has. In the past three years I’ve gone on a great deal of trips, climbed dozens upon dozens of rocks, mountains, and ice flows, biked thousands of miles, wasted countless work hours dreaming of future adventures, and drank countless beers in celebration of feats accomplished and to those yet to be undertaken. The time and space required for such a recounting would be unparalleled by even the most long-winded of fellow self-aggrandizing bloggers, so I’ll be kind and start my recap somewhere around November 2008.I’ve made quite a few trips to the White Mountains in New Hampshire to climb, but for several years it’s been my desire to get up there for some good old fashioned two wheeled fun. Autumn rolls around and it’s obvious that the window for a road riding trip in the Whites has passed, but I’ve always found it’s never too cold for some fat tire fun (read: mountain biking). I begin to hear rumors of the mother of all New England downhills, called the ‘Red Tail Trail’. I regale Tristan with grand tales of the pure gnarlitude the Red Tail has to offer and, naturally, he can’t pass it up. I off-handedly add that the climb up to the start of the Red Tail is supposed to be a hellacious test of legs and sanity, but I down-play this aspect because, I mean, how bad can it really be?
Fast forward a half dozen weeks – I can barely hear the rush of 18 degree arctic wind pass my ears as I let out long, sharp wheezing breaths and lay prone over my handlebars. My legs are
screaming, my half-numb fingers are aching, and I can scarcely remember the tales of forbidden downhill treasures that await us at the top. I look over to Tristan and he doesn’t look like he’s having anymore fun than I am. We’re currently climbing Hurricane Mountain Road, a 2.2 mile long, 15% grade paved monster snaking its way from Route 302 in Intervale to the trail head at the top of the mountain. I remember this road from reports I had read previously on the Red Tail Trail. In all the reports I read, the climb is merely a side-note, though a side-note rife with foreboding comments like “keep your nose on the rivet”, an insider’s term that means ‘dude, lean way forward over your handlebars because its really, really, really steep and your front wheel may just pop-up and you’ll go rolling backwards down the mountain, bike and all, like the foolish weakling you really are’.Well, we get to the top….somehow. We ride down...HOLY SHIT! I get to the bottom and can barely
speak a word through the grin that’s plastered on my face. Tristan seems to be having the same problem. We're finally able to stammer on in some sort of half-frozen pidgin mountain biker speak about sweeping berms, butter-smooth drops, and unhealthy doses of speed. Its amazing how quickly we forget about that punishing climb as we decide we’re going to do the ride again the next day. This time we take a different way up by the suggestion of some locals. This new trail, while tamer, is still not for the faint of heart. But forget everything I’ve said about the climb and mope up it no matter what it takes…you’ll thank me later.So after that, for all intents and purposes, mountain bike season is over and ice climbing season begins. That leads to a whole new chapter of misadventures, which I’ll report on in my next recap.
