Tristan had been spending months gathering the parts for his new build. The build, itself, was the product of even more months of research and planning. Finally it all came to fruition – the parts were in, the time presented itself, and the bike was built.
Last Friday was to be its maiden voyage. We met at the West Hartford Reservoir parking lot after work and cast off on our normal loop. A mile into the ride things began to fall apart – literally. I heard a loud howl of frustration and saw Tristan gazing with singular intensity at his new bike. The seat post had snapped in two. The upper portion hung limply from the lower portion still clamped firmly in the frame.
Baffled, we decide I’d complete the loop while he went in search of a new post. I finished a lap and found Tristan had returned to the parking lot, new seat post in hand. Again we cast off onto the trail anticipating no further anguish. Of course we were fooling ourselves - this is mountain biking - anguish is in no short supply. We were within mere minutes of finishing the ride when we heard the sharp hiss of Tristan’s rear tire going flat. Daylight was waning, as was our patience, so we decided to walk out. Tristan would worry about the tire later.
The next day finds us at Case Mountain. It’s hot as hell and we’re both feeling a little mopey. We struggle through the initial climb and are justly rewarded with some time in what we’ve dubbed “The Playground”. We’re rolling rocks, dropping drops, and negotiating skinnies. We find an especially formidable looking rock roller. We decide to each have a go but, again, fate chooses to frown upon Tristan and arranges another flat tire for him.
The holes are numerous and large. With no spare tube available we attempt some patch-mongery and hope for the best. The best isn’t good enough and the leak persists. Meanwhile, we’re being stared down by the most audacious white tail deer I’ve ever crossed paths with. Broad daylight, this deer is a mere thirty meters away staring at us intently as we toil away on Tristan’s bike. The intimidation doesn’t stop there as the deer begins to thrash his tail, stomp his hooves, and make bizarre snorting noises. It isn’t until another rider finally rolls by that the deer decides to fall back. He’s moved on a bit, but we can still see him grilling us from a distance.
We knew the patch wouldn’t hold, but it doesn’t matter anyways as Tristan’s chain breaks as he remounts the bike. It looks like this ride, too, is doomed. We decide that he’ll walk back to the road where I’ll pick him up.
The weekend is flying by and we’ve yet managed to get a successful ride in. We intend to try riding again at Case on Sunday. Sunday morning the phone rings – the seat post clamp snapped while Tristan was tightening it. The Sunday ride is over before it even starts. I take off on a solo mountain bike ride that morning with a follow-up road ride that afternoon. I feel a small tinge of guilt when both go off without a hitch.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Ace Piece of Kit
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
A Word on Oatmeal
For those of you who know Corey, then what follows may not come as any surprise to you. If you don’t know Corey, then all you really need to know is two things: (1) he loves road biking and (2) he’s the only other person I know personally that shares an obsession with oatmeal as equally unreasonable as my own. When we’re not talking bikes, we’re talking oatmeal preparations. Preparations can range from the truly delectable to the utterly bizarre. Some of the preparations are born of ravenous desperation, while others are the careful orchestration of flavors and textures plied together to beget a creation comparable to no other before it.
Like myself, Corey doesn’t bother to write down the details of even his most inspired oatey amalgamations, as a deliberate lack of precision in its recipes is one of the many qualities that defines oatmeal as the supreme grain. Despite this fact, we will, at times, become engrossed in a frenzied e-mail chain where we’ll swap ideas, criticisms, and heartfelt praise that can only be understood by a true fellow oatophile. Whether it be steel cut or rolled, raw or toasted, salted or sweetened, the common denominator is always that hint of sublime earthy oat flavor.
In these e-mails we’ve often discussed the reigning appeal of the oat in a world where the gourmand is otherwise overwhelmed with a multitude of other grains – each of which draws similar laudation from others as does the oat from us. We’ve decided that, among other things, the oat is the following:
(1) Easily prepared. In fact the oat doesn’t necessarily need to be prepared at all. Corey reports having simply rolled sliced banana in oats with a little cinnamon, salt, and honey. I’ve often times gnawed on raw oats while cooking something else, or have added them to trail mix like a lazy man’s granola. Even prepared, the oat simply needs only to be boiled or toasted – a triviality for someone even halfway competent in the kitchen.
(2) A blank palette. The oat, while possessing its own distinct and inherently appealing flavor, is rather muted in the expression of its essence, making it an excellent backdrop for so many other flavors.
(3) Versatile in texture and application. Going hand in hand with numbers one and two, the oat can be prepared to take on any number of textures – from the nutty crunch of an al dente steel cut to the creamy smoothness of a well boiled rolled varietal. As a result the oat is not only a readily accepting palette for flavor, but for texture as well. This allows the oat to play the role of bread, crust, crumble, nut, crunch, and a myriad of others. Oats (obviously) can serve as the basis of a dish itself, or can play a secondary role to whatever it is taking the spotlight.
(4) Cheap. C’mon, let’s not kid ourselves – oatmeal is crazy cheap while still providing a good balance of protein and complex carbohydrates. This also means you can buy it just about anywhere and, because it’s pretty shelf stable, take it just about anywhere as well. In fact (not surprisingly) instant oatmeal has been my go-to meal for every climbing trip I’ve ever been on, since food always seems to be the last consideration in the budget.
(5) Quick. Quick and cheap. Those two superlatives alone should render the oat the preferred grain of dirty old men everywhere. Seriously, though, oatmeal can take less than one minute to prepare depending on the species. As such, oats make an excellent recovery snack for us athlete types, or an excellent meal for those pressed for time in a more general sense. Again, ease of preparation is why oatmeal always is my staple calorie on any climbing trip.
With so many gleaming attributes, just how are Corey and I preparing our favorite dishes? Every way imaginable. I don’t run a recipe site, so you’ll have to deduce the details on your own, but here’s what we’ve been lucky enough to come up with so far: cookies n’ cream oatmeal, pumpkin pie oatmeal, oatmeal raisin cookie pudding, breakfast oatmeal with bacon (or sausage), potatoes, egg, and syrup, promeal (protein powder enhanced oatmeal – a trademark of ours), and baked oats with a caramelized streusel topping. Besides some of our more contrived concoctions, oatmeal is also great for just adding whatever the hell you want to. Some of my personal favorites are cottage cheese, apple sauce, berries, fruit of any kind, cream, honey, chocolate chips, and sunflower seeds.
But I’d be fooling myself it I thought the oat isn’t largely unappreciated today. Its neglect is readily evident by its relegation to grocery store shelves otherwise occupied by the sugary chemical laden mutations of the cereal world. It’s consumption is commonly uninspired, often consisting of nothing more than a few lumps of some pedestrian granulated sugar and a dash of sickly thin skim milk. Therefore is comes as no wonder to me that oatmeal has grown to be synonymous with insufferable diet plans characterized by monkish deprivation. But I say to you, oh reader, cast aside the fetters of self-imposed oat celibacy and rediscover the lusty side of a grain not always known for bland and prudish ways. Tear asunder the doors of your cabinets with unbridled fervor to rediscover the plentitude of additives which await forbidden union with your next bowl of oats. Then, as you recline lazily in your chair, smoldering cigarette resting between lips upturned in a mirthful grin while staring contentedly at the ravished bowl before you, you’ll be sure to thank me.
In these e-mails we’ve often discussed the reigning appeal of the oat in a world where the gourmand is otherwise overwhelmed with a multitude of other grains – each of which draws similar laudation from others as does the oat from us. We’ve decided that, among other things, the oat is the following:
(1) Easily prepared. In fact the oat doesn’t necessarily need to be prepared at all. Corey reports having simply rolled sliced banana in oats with a little cinnamon, salt, and honey. I’ve often times gnawed on raw oats while cooking something else, or have added them to trail mix like a lazy man’s granola. Even prepared, the oat simply needs only to be boiled or toasted – a triviality for someone even halfway competent in the kitchen.
(2) A blank palette. The oat, while possessing its own distinct and inherently appealing flavor, is rather muted in the expression of its essence, making it an excellent backdrop for so many other flavors.
(3) Versatile in texture and application. Going hand in hand with numbers one and two, the oat can be prepared to take on any number of textures – from the nutty crunch of an al dente steel cut to the creamy smoothness of a well boiled rolled varietal. As a result the oat is not only a readily accepting palette for flavor, but for texture as well. This allows the oat to play the role of bread, crust, crumble, nut, crunch, and a myriad of others. Oats (obviously) can serve as the basis of a dish itself, or can play a secondary role to whatever it is taking the spotlight.
(4) Cheap. C’mon, let’s not kid ourselves – oatmeal is crazy cheap while still providing a good balance of protein and complex carbohydrates. This also means you can buy it just about anywhere and, because it’s pretty shelf stable, take it just about anywhere as well. In fact (not surprisingly) instant oatmeal has been my go-to meal for every climbing trip I’ve ever been on, since food always seems to be the last consideration in the budget.
(5) Quick. Quick and cheap. Those two superlatives alone should render the oat the preferred grain of dirty old men everywhere. Seriously, though, oatmeal can take less than one minute to prepare depending on the species. As such, oats make an excellent recovery snack for us athlete types, or an excellent meal for those pressed for time in a more general sense. Again, ease of preparation is why oatmeal always is my staple calorie on any climbing trip.
With so many gleaming attributes, just how are Corey and I preparing our favorite dishes? Every way imaginable. I don’t run a recipe site, so you’ll have to deduce the details on your own, but here’s what we’ve been lucky enough to come up with so far: cookies n’ cream oatmeal, pumpkin pie oatmeal, oatmeal raisin cookie pudding, breakfast oatmeal with bacon (or sausage), potatoes, egg, and syrup, promeal (protein powder enhanced oatmeal – a trademark of ours), and baked oats with a caramelized streusel topping. Besides some of our more contrived concoctions, oatmeal is also great for just adding whatever the hell you want to. Some of my personal favorites are cottage cheese, apple sauce, berries, fruit of any kind, cream, honey, chocolate chips, and sunflower seeds.
But I’d be fooling myself it I thought the oat isn’t largely unappreciated today. Its neglect is readily evident by its relegation to grocery store shelves otherwise occupied by the sugary chemical laden mutations of the cereal world. It’s consumption is commonly uninspired, often consisting of nothing more than a few lumps of some pedestrian granulated sugar and a dash of sickly thin skim milk. Therefore is comes as no wonder to me that oatmeal has grown to be synonymous with insufferable diet plans characterized by monkish deprivation. But I say to you, oh reader, cast aside the fetters of self-imposed oat celibacy and rediscover the lusty side of a grain not always known for bland and prudish ways. Tear asunder the doors of your cabinets with unbridled fervor to rediscover the plentitude of additives which await forbidden union with your next bowl of oats. Then, as you recline lazily in your chair, smoldering cigarette resting between lips upturned in a mirthful grin while staring contentedly at the ravished bowl before you, you’ll be sure to thank me.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Guest Post: Tour of the Battenkill Race Report
Below is Corey's race report from last weekend's Tour of the Battenkill.
The night before Charlie, Brian, Jeff, Jim and drove the beginning of the course (through Juniper Hill) and the end of the course (Stage rd). This was really helpful, especially for the juniper hill portion. It was as steep as everyone said, but very short.
Our race started at 10:30 on Saturday morning, so we roll up to the parking area shortly after 9. As I’m getting my bike out and doing some last minute checks, disaster strikes. My rear derailleur cable snaps off inside the shifter as im running through the gears. Note for the future: CHECK CABLES before a big race.
After a brief heart attack, I run my bike over to mavic support praying that they’ll be able to help me. The mechanic rummages through the truck, finds a rear derailleur cable and puts my bike on the stand. 10 minutes of fiddling later, he can not get the broken end out of the shifter and is hesitant to take the entire shifter off for fear of losing pieces. He tells me I’m just going to have to ride one of their bikes, and pulls a bright yellow 52cm Mavic logoed Caad9 out of the truck, complete with SRAM force and R-Sys wheels. A few quick fitting adjustments are made and I’m off and riding. By this point its around 10:20 and I head over to the line, no time for a warmup.
Jeff, Matt, Charlie, Conor and myself are all in this field. The race is pretty uneventful up until the first climb (except for the pro mountain biker soloing off the front at mile 2 and winning the race by 9 minutes), when the pace picks up. All the NYVC riders are in the top 20 as we go around the sweeping dirt corner that marks the approach to juniper hill. The climb was intense, once we got over the top someone shouted that we had separation, so we hastily got into a paceline and started working together. Pretty soon no other riders were in sight. There were probably 15-16 of us in the selection, including Matt and Jeff. I told myself that I only needed to drop 5 of these riders to get a top 10 finish, which would have thrilled me.
Things were pretty uneventful up until the Salem climb. I lost a full bottle right before the climb, but was able to get another at Feed zone 2. Everyone was out of the saddle pushing hard on this climb, Matt was right up at the front setting the pace. Jeff had mentioned he wasn’t feeling too great and dropped back. Despite all this, the majority of the selection made it over the climb so I knew we had a pretty strong group. Going into the flat stretch the wind picked up, no one was interested in lifting the pace or pulling too hard. Most riders were just pulling through and shifting to the back. One guy, Ned (cox communications jersey) tried to get the group more organized and raise the pace so we could try and catch the guy off the front, but no one was really having it.
Around Mountain rd the race got really tough. I was sitting about 10th wheel before the turn, then the 2 guys in front of me suddenly slowed and a gap grew between me and the 8 or so guys in front. Realizing I was in danger of getting dropped, I sprinted around the 2 guys in front of me and went all out for a minute or so. I managed to catch up right at the base of a steep dirt climb, so the pain didn’t end for a couple more minutes. The series of steep dirt climbs after this split apart our selection. I was really feeling the efforts on these climbs, but based on the gasping I heard around me everyone else was as well. When we got to the end of the dirt sections we had about 8 guys left. For the next 3 miles we lifted the pace, everyone was giving hard pulls to ensure we put the other guys out of sight. Then we all relaxed and recovered a bit for the last stretch before stage rd.
As soon as we hit stage road, Ned cramps up and nearly takes out another rider as he pulls over. At this point I start giving everything I have left. 2 guys are ahead of me with the remainder behind, Matt is right on my wheel up until halfway up the climb or so. I remember from the night before that there is a yield sign at the top of the climb, so I just keep pushing waiting for that sign to come into sight. Finally I see it, as I crest the hill I look behind me and see 2 guys gaining. Instead of trying to stay ahead, I tuck and coast down the descent and they catch up to me. At this point I organize us into a 3 man paceline. There is only 5k to go at this point. Our line catches one of the riders that was off the front and the 4 of us work together till the last turn into the finish. As soon as we make the turn, the guy we had just caught takes off. Im right after him but he gaps me by a couple bike lengths. I push it but the gap sticks, he crosses the line in 3rd with me in 4th, and the other 2 guys right after. I almost couldn’t believe the result, I was super pumped.
It was certainly interesting doing the race on a bike I had never ridden before, with no computer or stats, but I cant complain about the outcome.
The night before Charlie, Brian, Jeff, Jim and drove the beginning of the course (through Juniper Hill) and the end of the course (Stage rd). This was really helpful, especially for the juniper hill portion. It was as steep as everyone said, but very short.
Our race started at 10:30 on Saturday morning, so we roll up to the parking area shortly after 9. As I’m getting my bike out and doing some last minute checks, disaster strikes. My rear derailleur cable snaps off inside the shifter as im running through the gears. Note for the future: CHECK CABLES before a big race.
After a brief heart attack, I run my bike over to mavic support praying that they’ll be able to help me. The mechanic rummages through the truck, finds a rear derailleur cable and puts my bike on the stand. 10 minutes of fiddling later, he can not get the broken end out of the shifter and is hesitant to take the entire shifter off for fear of losing pieces. He tells me I’m just going to have to ride one of their bikes, and pulls a bright yellow 52cm Mavic logoed Caad9 out of the truck, complete with SRAM force and R-Sys wheels. A few quick fitting adjustments are made and I’m off and riding. By this point its around 10:20 and I head over to the line, no time for a warmup.
Jeff, Matt, Charlie, Conor and myself are all in this field. The race is pretty uneventful up until the first climb (except for the pro mountain biker soloing off the front at mile 2 and winning the race by 9 minutes), when the pace picks up. All the NYVC riders are in the top 20 as we go around the sweeping dirt corner that marks the approach to juniper hill. The climb was intense, once we got over the top someone shouted that we had separation, so we hastily got into a paceline and started working together. Pretty soon no other riders were in sight. There were probably 15-16 of us in the selection, including Matt and Jeff. I told myself that I only needed to drop 5 of these riders to get a top 10 finish, which would have thrilled me.
Things were pretty uneventful up until the Salem climb. I lost a full bottle right before the climb, but was able to get another at Feed zone 2. Everyone was out of the saddle pushing hard on this climb, Matt was right up at the front setting the pace. Jeff had mentioned he wasn’t feeling too great and dropped back. Despite all this, the majority of the selection made it over the climb so I knew we had a pretty strong group. Going into the flat stretch the wind picked up, no one was interested in lifting the pace or pulling too hard. Most riders were just pulling through and shifting to the back. One guy, Ned (cox communications jersey) tried to get the group more organized and raise the pace so we could try and catch the guy off the front, but no one was really having it.
Around Mountain rd the race got really tough. I was sitting about 10th wheel before the turn, then the 2 guys in front of me suddenly slowed and a gap grew between me and the 8 or so guys in front. Realizing I was in danger of getting dropped, I sprinted around the 2 guys in front of me and went all out for a minute or so. I managed to catch up right at the base of a steep dirt climb, so the pain didn’t end for a couple more minutes. The series of steep dirt climbs after this split apart our selection. I was really feeling the efforts on these climbs, but based on the gasping I heard around me everyone else was as well. When we got to the end of the dirt sections we had about 8 guys left. For the next 3 miles we lifted the pace, everyone was giving hard pulls to ensure we put the other guys out of sight. Then we all relaxed and recovered a bit for the last stretch before stage rd.
As soon as we hit stage road, Ned cramps up and nearly takes out another rider as he pulls over. At this point I start giving everything I have left. 2 guys are ahead of me with the remainder behind, Matt is right on my wheel up until halfway up the climb or so. I remember from the night before that there is a yield sign at the top of the climb, so I just keep pushing waiting for that sign to come into sight. Finally I see it, as I crest the hill I look behind me and see 2 guys gaining. Instead of trying to stay ahead, I tuck and coast down the descent and they catch up to me. At this point I organize us into a 3 man paceline. There is only 5k to go at this point. Our line catches one of the riders that was off the front and the 4 of us work together till the last turn into the finish. As soon as we make the turn, the guy we had just caught takes off. Im right after him but he gaps me by a couple bike lengths. I push it but the gap sticks, he crosses the line in 3rd with me in 4th, and the other 2 guys right after. I almost couldn’t believe the result, I was super pumped.
It was certainly interesting doing the race on a bike I had never ridden before, with no computer or stats, but I cant complain about the outcome.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Summer Hide
I smack at a fly on my calf and look down at the resulting smear of blood. An angry welt rises between two deep bloody scratches. One of them still cradles the stubborn tip of a thorn. I’m soon distracted by a burning tingle on my arm and seek relief in frenzied slaps and scratches. The back of my neck burns from sweat and sun; my face itches where it’s spotted with dried mud.
Harried by overwhelming corporal sensation, I remount my bike and strike forward with renewed purpose. The wind licks across my cheeks and arms. The spray of cold mud and water from occasional puddles and streams soothes my myriad ills. My muscles ache dully, but pleasantly. My breathe presses out, then in. The legions of gnats have fallen back and my body’s trifling complaints are replaced by the simplicity of labor. Any pause renews the onslaught of gnats and fiery flesh, a sure sign I still lack that toughened exterior so essential to the season. I look forward to growing my summer hide.
Harried by overwhelming corporal sensation, I remount my bike and strike forward with renewed purpose. The wind licks across my cheeks and arms. The spray of cold mud and water from occasional puddles and streams soothes my myriad ills. My muscles ache dully, but pleasantly. My breathe presses out, then in. The legions of gnats have fallen back and my body’s trifling complaints are replaced by the simplicity of labor. Any pause renews the onslaught of gnats and fiery flesh, a sure sign I still lack that toughened exterior so essential to the season. I look forward to growing my summer hide.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Pizza & Sullying Our Land
So Friday was Associate Appreciation day whereupon we were shown appreciation with greasy pizza and jugs of soda. Naturally, I declined the gratuity. However, pizza continued to loom large on my mind and when dinner time rolled around I was victim to a real hankering for a pie. As I typically don’t keep flour on hand I had to decide if I was going to scrap the idea, go out and obtain flour, or figure out something else. I was frankly too lazy to go out and get flour but not so lazy that I wanted to scrap the idea, so I started flipping through my cookbooks and recipes for inspiration.
I found a recipe for oat bread using flour milled from oatmeal and, along with a pizza crust recipe, was able to cobble something together to form an oat crust. Basically I milled the oatmeal in a blender and using some salt, yeast, and honey came up with a nice formula for a crust. I made a rich tomato sauce from scratch and topped the pizza with fresh mozzarella, uncured apple wood smoked bacon, asparagus, onion, green pepper, and broccoli. It ended up being quite delicious and, even in my own self-castigating sort of way, congratulated myself on the creation. I actually found the denser crust created by the oat flour to be far more tart-like than anything, but really enjoyed it that way. It still was very moist, chewy, and extremely resilient to the rigors of heavily topping laden pizza consumption.
Having had a pleasant sleep filled with visions of pizza and bacon, I woke to find the sun shining in, what was, apparently a beautiful day. Both my patio doors and window face the east side of my building, however, which sometimes can impart a false sense of warmth that is easily deceiving. That being said, I broke out my mountain bike and departed on what would become one of the worst rides of my mountain biking ‘career’. First, as I have already alluded to, I set the stage for my ride by being totally underdressed – a fact I realized immediately after stepping out of the car at the shaded trailhead.
My goal was to explore a matrix of fire roads that crisscross over this large plot of land in Southington – part of the Crescent Lake property for those of you who are familiar. Well, not too far in I began to realize that they had started logging the area and were using the other end of the property as their point of entry. Because they were using an alternative entrance their operation wasn’t immediately conspicuous to me, for if it had been I probably would have reconsidered my venture altogether.
Anyhow, the roads, I learned, had been torn up by large logging machinery and were a combination of deep icy muddy ruts overlaid with a bunch of dead fall. Only twenty minutes into the ride I was covered head to toe in freezing mud, trying with all my might to keep my momentum as I pedaled uphill, as the road revealed itself to be a gradual but unrelenting climb in hub-deep arctic mud. The rutting was so deep that the roads were essentially acting as small rivers and thick brush on either side made it impossible to skirt the horrendous mess. However, stubbornness prevailed and I sallied forth instead of turning back. I can’t imagine I actually covered any significant amount of terrain, and yet I was still out for a good two hours. By the time I got back to the car I was fuming, rightfully blaming the loggers for such careless use of the land and for everyone’s eagerness to make a quick buck at the expense of Connecticut’s limited woodlands.
Upon riding back home with a mud packed hubs and an equally filthy visage, I contemplated just how sad the treatment of Connecticut’s land is. Human powered recreation seems to be a rarity around here, often leading to the limited amount of woodland set aside for its practitioners to be summarily overrun by OHV’s and loggers. This is far more commonplace than I care to admit and I continue to find more and more acreage fall victim to this sort of shabby and lowly treatment. As one can imagine, this is an issue that has long plagued me and my outrage only continues to grow with time. As such I am sure that you can expect future posts on this subject in my effort to begin combating the whoring out of our precious few woodlands.
I found a recipe for oat bread using flour milled from oatmeal and, along with a pizza crust recipe, was able to cobble something together to form an oat crust. Basically I milled the oatmeal in a blender and using some salt, yeast, and honey came up with a nice formula for a crust. I made a rich tomato sauce from scratch and topped the pizza with fresh mozzarella, uncured apple wood smoked bacon, asparagus, onion, green pepper, and broccoli. It ended up being quite delicious and, even in my own self-castigating sort of way, congratulated myself on the creation. I actually found the denser crust created by the oat flour to be far more tart-like than anything, but really enjoyed it that way. It still was very moist, chewy, and extremely resilient to the rigors of heavily topping laden pizza consumption.
Having had a pleasant sleep filled with visions of pizza and bacon, I woke to find the sun shining in, what was, apparently a beautiful day. Both my patio doors and window face the east side of my building, however, which sometimes can impart a false sense of warmth that is easily deceiving. That being said, I broke out my mountain bike and departed on what would become one of the worst rides of my mountain biking ‘career’. First, as I have already alluded to, I set the stage for my ride by being totally underdressed – a fact I realized immediately after stepping out of the car at the shaded trailhead.
My goal was to explore a matrix of fire roads that crisscross over this large plot of land in Southington – part of the Crescent Lake property for those of you who are familiar. Well, not too far in I began to realize that they had started logging the area and were using the other end of the property as their point of entry. Because they were using an alternative entrance their operation wasn’t immediately conspicuous to me, for if it had been I probably would have reconsidered my venture altogether.
Anyhow, the roads, I learned, had been torn up by large logging machinery and were a combination of deep icy muddy ruts overlaid with a bunch of dead fall. Only twenty minutes into the ride I was covered head to toe in freezing mud, trying with all my might to keep my momentum as I pedaled uphill, as the road revealed itself to be a gradual but unrelenting climb in hub-deep arctic mud. The rutting was so deep that the roads were essentially acting as small rivers and thick brush on either side made it impossible to skirt the horrendous mess. However, stubbornness prevailed and I sallied forth instead of turning back. I can’t imagine I actually covered any significant amount of terrain, and yet I was still out for a good two hours. By the time I got back to the car I was fuming, rightfully blaming the loggers for such careless use of the land and for everyone’s eagerness to make a quick buck at the expense of Connecticut’s limited woodlands.
Upon riding back home with a mud packed hubs and an equally filthy visage, I contemplated just how sad the treatment of Connecticut’s land is. Human powered recreation seems to be a rarity around here, often leading to the limited amount of woodland set aside for its practitioners to be summarily overrun by OHV’s and loggers. This is far more commonplace than I care to admit and I continue to find more and more acreage fall victim to this sort of shabby and lowly treatment. As one can imagine, this is an issue that has long plagued me and my outrage only continues to grow with time. As such I am sure that you can expect future posts on this subject in my effort to begin combating the whoring out of our precious few woodlands.
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