Zach on my mountain bike several years ago...
A few weeks ago I had a couple studs over at the cabin
for some intense riding. Hottie was
there the first day but was overwhelmed by the testosterone and left us alone
for most of the weekend. It was a chance
for me to share some of the roads and trails I have come to know and love.
The gents and I were able to sneak in a mountain bike
ride late Friday finishing just before sunset.
We went on the classic Buck Mountain Loop. The ride was fun. It was one of those, “It doesn’t get any
better than this” kind of rides. My love
of gravel has taken me on many challenging roads but the thrill of riding
single track on a mountain bike was rekindled.
We spooked deer and rode through
some idyllic scenes that just left us wondering what we did to deserve so much
fun.
My mountain bike isn’t quite a museum relic but in dog
years it is over a hundred years old. My
companions were on 29 inch machines that are both pretty young. Their great bikes in combination with their
fitness and bike handling skills made keeping up a challenge. They were kind enough to wait for me on
descents and some technical sections where my bike couldn’t keep up.
The ride just sucked !
I was pushing and found myself approaching the edge of
the envelope where you go faster than feels safe. You can usually get away with
what for a while but not too long I didn’t like getting gapped and my ego was
pushing me to let off the brakes and let it fly. I could see those guys zipping back and forth
on the downhill ahead of me and I tried to keep up. I was employing self-talk to convince myself
that my old bike was just fine. My rear
wheel also seemed to have some unexpected side-to-side play but I used my well
honed powers of denial to chase that thought out of my head.
Honing my denial skills over coffee and lies..
The steely taste of adrenaline in my mouth and a corner
or two where I barely made it prompted me to back off and let the gap
grow. The guys stopped now and then and waited for
me and didn’t utter a hint of complaint.
These are great guys. As kind as they were I didn’t like being THAT guy.
Like many folks my childhood is peppered with memories of
being on the outside looking in. I wanted Levi’s yet I went to school in pants
from JC Penney. Those pants weren’t even real jeans. They were some poly blend
with a denim pattern printed on them that never faded like jeans were supposed
to. I hated them. All they lacked was
the “Kick Me” sign pinned to the butt. Mom how could you?
Nice dress eh?
My friends had Schwinn Sting Rays and I had a purple bike
from Montgomery Wards. Even as a child I outwardly shrugged it off and kept the
brave face until I split the head tube landing off a jump. I carried my bike
home in two parts. The only bright side
was the crash finally ripped those damn JC Penney pants. I yanked the tear to make it even
bigger. If my mom had patched those
pants I would have run away and joined the circus.
French Bike, French Tires and French Pedals, all old.
In France which is also old.
Forgive me; I digress. Back to 2015.
About the middle of the ride I noticed my left brake
lever seemed to have more play than the right brake lever. I stopped and saw the lever had lost its
pivot bolt and was dangling. We still
had a thousand feet of descending to do and I found that if I kept a finger on
the lever at all times I could keep it from coming out and then I could kind of
brake. “I’m good,” I lied to my
companions.
I made it down intact and was grateful to have shared a
wonderful ride. Back at the cabin I
showed Hottie the dangling brake lever. She
seemed concerned. Later that evening I shrugged off the events of the day as I
searched the internet for a replacement lever.
I put the bike away and turned my thoughts to gravel.
Over the next couple days I talked with my friends about
what would be a good 29er bike for me.
Hottie joined in on the discussion as well. She asked me about this and that continuing
the conversation even after we returned to Casa de Evo on the west side of the
state.
A doctor told me once the best way to have surgery is to
start talking to a surgeon. I wanted to
have a bike in mind but I knew I was somewhere between a season and a year away
from getting a new mountain bike. I quit
talking about it as I figured it would just make me want one and that wasn’t
going to happen any time soon. My life
is pretty sweet and I was content to count my blessings.
Two weeks later Hottie and I returned to the Cabin and
brought my dear mother, a.k.a. “The Beast” for Mother’s day weekend. In the back of the War Wagon was a small
plastic bag containing a replacement brake lever. Lucky for me cable brake levers are cheap!
Per the plan I had left work early and when we arrived we
unloaded and I swapped out the old lever and put on the new one. Within thirty minutes of arriving Hottie and
I were riding mountain bikes on the trails of the beautiful Methow Valley. I followed her as she rode her Santa Cruz
Tallboy and the bike soaked up the bumps. I increased the volume of my self-talk
telling myself what an awesome bike my old Fisher was.
As I watched her float over rocks I tried to sit on the
same section of trail only to have my teeth rattled. I convinced myself that standing out of the
saddle was great for my training. During
our ride Hottie got a call from a friend of hers who lives in Omak but was in
Winthrop on business. We stopped for
three minutes while she made arrangements to hook up with her friend post ride.
After the call we returned to riding and I thought nothing of it.
After showers and dinner Hottie drove to town to meet her
friend. The Beast was chilling outside
and I was doing a few chores inside. I
saw Hottie driving up the driveway and I rushed to finish hanging up our bike
clothes which I had washed. I didn’t
want to greet her friend with a pile of wet bike kit in my hands.
With my bibs hanging “business side out” to dry Hottie
called me out to the front porch. She
gave me a card with my name on it. I
looked to my right and saw a big mountain bike leaned against the cabin. The bike was pointed at me so all I could tell
was it was a mountain bike (flat bars and wide tires). I was sure I had put the bikes away after the
ride. I remembered our conversations about mountain bikes and wondered if
Hottie had bought me a new bike.
Despite Hottie’s history of excellent gift giving I still
reverted to my childhood trauma and feared I might be looking at the 2015
version of the Montgomery Ward purple bike.
The card bore the tried and true words, “Nothing says Love like Carbon
Fiber.” I had hope.
Speechless, I walked over and stood in front of the bike. There in all its glory was a brand new full
suspension Tallboy in my size. It was a
better model than I had dreamed of. My head was struggling to understand what
was happening. This was Mother’s Day weekend.
Why was I getting a gift?
“Just because you’re a great guy and I love you” was
Hottie’s answer.
I have the greatest wife EVER!
My mom had contributed as well and I had no choice but to
forgive my mother for all the dorky clothes she had made me wear as a child. Let the healing begin!
In a flash I put pedals on it and zipped up and down the
driveway until it was too dark to ride anymore.
I was like a kid on Chismus morning and was almost afraid to go to sleep
for fear it was all a dream. Hottie’s
“friend” was in fact Methow Cycle and Sport calling to tell her when the bike
would be ready. I had been duped. I’m fine with that. The awesome team at Methow Cycle and Sport
had gone above and beyond to get the bike in and build it up for me.
The Wizard of Coz and Methow Cycle Sport
The next day Hottie urged me to take it out solo for a
“get to know you” ride. I rode it and it was predictably awesome. I tried to hold back but that didn’t last
very long. What I realized was that while I was indeed faster, speed was only a
byproduct of having more control and thus being significantly safer. The ride was also more comfortable, which despite
my bravado and outward denial of being impacted by time, matters a lot.
In the days since I find myself reflecting on three
things. First, it means a lot to me that people love me and care for me enough
to sacrifice so I can have such an expensive gift. It makes me think maybe I’m
not such a bad guy. Second, I do have
some wonderful people in my life and that means more than any material thing.
Dos Tallboys Hottie's on the left
Finally, speaking of material things, that Tallboy is a freakin amazing bike.
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