Tuesday Night Wrap-up

I slide into the parking lot sending up a plume of dry dust that eventually settles back down on my car, further adding to its sullied well-travelled mystique. I step out of the car and can already feel the chill wind and drop in air pressure that promises a healthy thunder storm riding in on its coat tails. Tristan arrives a few minutes later and looks upon my bike in horror as he realizes I hadn’t cleaned it from the ride before. Everything is coated in thick gobs of dried mud and the chain has a fine patina of rust upon it. The disc brakes scrape and rub as they too are covered in a film of woodland grime. I love my bike, it just doesn’t show.

After the exchange of a few quick words about the weather and the route of choice we are off through the grassy ridgeline that eventually dumps us at the base of the very first climb. The first half of the ride goes as it always does – lots of suffering up climbs, some good technical sections that are always a honor to clean, and eager anticipation of the challenging ridgeline to follow. We muscle up the last of the major climbs with burning quads and oxygen starved bodies. We stop for a minute to refuel but are quickly set back in motion by the swarms of flies trying to rob us of blood and comfort. We flow along, cleaning feature after feature, enjoying the silence of the wilderness as it hunkers down in anticipation of the impending storm.

I go to hit a small ladder up-and-over, when I suddenly realize the other side has been moved. I crash down awkwardly on the other side as I hear the SNAP of my derailleur hanger. Tristan and I almost immediately have my bike upended and are inspecting the damage. The derailleur has been completely amputated. I extract it from the spokes of my wheel and within a few minutes I am up and running again, albeit now on a single speed. The going is now far more challenging with the absence of any gearing options, but it adds to the fun rather than detract from it.

Tristan and I are hooting and hollering as we hit downhill after downhill, sweeping through the berms, launching off the features. We finally get dumped back out into a meadow where we hear the first claps of thunder. The breeze is even cooler and it bends the wild flowers and tall grass in all directions; a hypnotic interplay between the invisible and visible aspects of nature. We spy a deer in the depression to the left of us just as we feel the first drops of rain fall upon us against the background of wild flashes of lightening. We sweep through the meadow and are back in the woods once again. It’s much darker now and picking a line is now based more on intuition than sight. After muddling our way through the final section of darkened forest, we are on the final leg of our journey, passing back over the grassy ridgeline on which we started. Its pouring now, and Tristan and I are relishing in the beauty of our timing and how fortunate we are to have finished the ride in such a wonderful summer thunderstorm.

We get back to the car and load up our bikes, finding excuses to stand out in the cooling rain just a few moments longer before returning to our cars and, eventually, the comfort of the indoors.