And the Winner is...

Well, the results of the FixedGearGallery.com build contest are in... and I took third place! Here is the link to the contest page.

When I submitted this bike I really didn't expect to even place. For me, this year was more about doing something to honor Dad than to win anything, so this was just icing on the cake. I also gave the bike to Will (the guy I mentioned in the story) today. He seemed genuinely touched to get it and promised to ride the heck out of it!

Oh, and here's one last thing that anyone who knew my father will understand. It cost me $25 to enter the contest and $9 to build the bike. I won $125 putting my profit from this venture at $91. Dad, I think I made my 4%...

2008 Fixedgear Gallery Build Contest

Well, another build is finished and submitted. The theme for this years contest was an "Open Build", meaning that you could put together any kind of bike you like as long as it is a conversion of an existing bike. The spending limit was much higher this year, but I decided to take a different tack and see just how little I could spend. I was very happy with the result!

Here's my my write up, as submitted to the judges. Enjoy!

With this year’s contest being an open build, I had some trouble narrowing down my theme. I had grand plans of doing something completely over the top (I won’t say what my plan was, as I might still use it in a future contest) but after weighing all of my options, I decided to take a little different approach, go back to my roots and build a rolling tribute to my Dad.

To understand this approach, you need to first understand my father. He was the king of making something from nothing, taking whatever he had on hand and fabricating whatever it was he needed. The man was the consummate junk collector, never throwing anything away that might have a future use. He was the living embodiment of “one man’s junk is another man’s treasure”… and he had acres of treasure! He would re-cycle his treasure into all kinds of interesting vehicles and machines; he was green before it was cool. In my case the apple didn’t fall far from the tree; I also collect ‘treasure’, but in the form of bikes. There are bikes in my living room, bikes in my office and no cars in my garage because the space is taken up by, you guessed it… bikes!

With the second anniversary of my father’s passing on the horizon, I came up with the idea of putting together a bike in the fashion he would have chosen. I wanted to build something using bits and pieces from my treasure trove, spending as little money as possible. I decided to build a “Re-Cycle”…

The first order of business was to find my donor bike. I settled on an old Diamondback mountain bike that was given to me just to get it out of the way. I figured starting with a free bike was a great foundation for a cheap-as-possible build. I had already done some work on the bike with the intension of dumping it on Craigslist so it was in pretty nice shape and sported a lot of usable parts. I dug through the garage to see what else I had that I could use to cut the budget. My search yielded cranks, pedals and a nice seat… score!

After stripping the bike down to the bare frame, I surveyed the pile of parts growing in front of me and formed a plan. I knew I needed to do something special to set the bike apart, but what? The first things to jump out at me were the wheels; why not try a different spoke pattern? I poked around the web and found something that caught my eye. It was a 3-leading, 3-trailing pattern that formed a 3 point star in the center. Being a wheel builder I had the tools, and with any luck the skills, so I took up the challenge.

I deconstructed the wheel and recalculated the spokes for the new pattern. Reusing the old spokes required that they be clipped and rethreaded. After spending an evening reworking spokes and re-spacing the rear hub to the new chain line, the wheels went together without a fight… and man did they look cool!

Next on the list was the frame prep. Using stripper left over from last year’s path racer build, I took the frame and fork down to the bare metal to get a clean slate for the paint. I considered removing the braze-on for the brakes and shifting, but decided to keep them. I wanted to keep brakes on the bike and, in the spirit of future recycling, leave the option for the next owner to restore gears if he so desired.

Next was the color choice. Again I went back to last years build; I had left over almond spray paint that screamed to be used. This did help to keep the cost down, but in the end I had to spend five bucks on one more can of paint to get good coverage… the first cash spent on the project. For the decals, I decided to again draw inspiration from the path racer and use the same red. I figured this kind of tied the two bikes together, making them family. Using my father’s “J-bird” trademark, I designed and printed up a set of waterslide decals to complete the look.

With paint done and wheels at the ready, all that remained was assembly. The bike went together quickly and easily. There were a couple of things that required some creative thinking; the grips and the seat post. Lacking a set of grips for the bars (and not wanting to spend any money), I again drew from last year and hand wrapped them with left over bar tape. The look was pleasing and to tell you the truth, I like the feel better than the rubber ones. The second problem took a little more thinking.

The bars and stem were black and looked nice, but the seat post was bare steel… it stood out like a sore thumb. Anyone who’s ever painted a seat post and then shoved it down into the frame knows that just ends up getting scraped up and looking like crap, so that was not an option. I needed to find a cheap way to stain the post (note: black sharpie doesn’t work!). The solution was found in my shooting supplies; a tube of gun bluing paste I use for touching the finish on old guns. Gun barrels are steel, the seat post was steel… should work, right? I cleaned and prepped the post, then applied the paste; worked like a charm. With the last detail taken care of, the build was complete. The total cost of this year’s bike… $9.00 ($5.00 for paint, $4.00 for decal paper).

Now that the bike is done, the pictures have been taken, and this submission finished, there remains only one more task; giving the bike away. With this bike being inspired by my father, I feel like the proper way to complete the circle is to pass it. So, in the spirit of my father I have chosen a deserving recipient.

I work with a young man who is trying hard to build a life for his family, sometimes at the expense of his own sanity. One of his outlets is riding, a passion he hopes to someday share with his now infant son. He has been looking for a bike he can use to pull a child trailer around the neighborhood, and this one fits the bill nicely. My treasure trove also includes a trailer (again, given to me for nothing) that, after a little refurbishing, will complete the set.

I really think my father would be proud…

*****************************

Here are a few more shots of the bike:

The donor bike


De-constructed wheel


My spoke cutting and threading station


Threading a spoke


The finished front wheel


Home made Re-Cycle decal


Dad's trademark


Hand wrapped grips


3-leading, 3-trailing spoke pattern


The finished beast

A New Arrival in the Bird House

Well folks, the day is finally here. Brace yourselves... I'm actually posting something new!

There are a lot of changes in the wind for our family. It seems that everyone we know, and many we are related to, have been popping out babies! OK, some have yet to pop them out, but you get the idea. Before you get the wrong impression let me tell you not to worry... Debi and I are not getting in on that act. We love the fact that we get to play with all of these little bundles of joy... and then promptly hand them back to the parents when they are not so joyful!

There is, however, a new arrival in our home. It's a bouncing baby bike!



Not what you expected, right? Haven't you been paying attention? This is a BIKE blog! Let me tell you how this one came about.

I've been looking at this touring frame on Nashbar.com for a couple of years, but could never justify the purchase. I've always wanted to build a touring/commuting specific bike and had my old Bianchi set up for it, but it just wasn't the real thing. Don't get me wrong; the Bianchi is a very nice bike, but it's just not the same.

Well, a few weeks ago I was looking at the frame again on the Nashbar site. It normally sells for about $300 for the frame and fork, and was on sale for $225. Again, I just couldn't justify it at that price, but the rusty littles wheels in my brain started turning. I work for Performance Bike and get deep discounts on company branded items. Performance owns Nashbar... the frame is a Nashbar branded item... shouldn't I get a discount on the frame? I figured it couldn't hurt to ask!

The process took a little while, but was well worth it. Jay (my boss) sent a few emails to someone in the head office that handles employee purchasing, they hooked him up with someone over at Nashbar that handled them over there, and so on until I ended up on the phone with what turned out to be the woman of my dreams. The price she quoted me was... wait for it.... $45! Can you believe that?

Well, I could feel the credit card in my wallet heating up, so I whipped that little sucker out and started reading her the numbers. I figured I'd better jump on it quick before she figured out she had dropped a decimal point or something! The final total with shipping and tax was $63.10.

After a couple weeks of digging parts out of the garage and making raids on Ebay, what you see is the final result. With the price of gas going up exponentially, it's not going to take too many months of commuting on this bike to break even. Now I just have to get my butt in good enough shape to actually do some touring...

More Ramblings

Well, a few days have gone by and still I haven't written anything new. It's not that I haven't got anything to write about, I just haven't felt "inspired". Oh well, looks like you guys are just going to have to suffer through another one of my old ramblings.

Guys, if your wife ever complains about your wardrobe choices, just print this out and leave it in a conspicuous place; it should help to get you off the hook... for a little while anyway. You're welcome!

Been There, Done That, Got the T-Shirt!

Some things in life are very predictable and I seem to be one of them. Whenever my wife and I are getting dressed to go out she seems to feel the need to inform me to “wear a shirt without writing on it!” Now some people might feel that their fashion sense is being called into question, but I have to admit that when she makes this statement, nine out of ten times I’m just poking my head through the neck hole of a t-shirt that looks more like a billboard than apparel. I guess after twenty-two years she knows me pretty well.

However, the odds of being right are stacked heavily in her favor. I think about 90% of my upper body attire fits into this category. It started out as a handful t-shirts commemorating events and physical accomplishments in my life and just grew out of control from there. My collection now includes polo shirts, button-downs, tank tops, hats, jackets… you get the idea.

I didn’t set out with the goal of becoming a walking advertisement, it just sort of evolved that way until, eventually, it took on a life of it’s own. The spark was lit by those little logo key chains that everyone gives away and tinder was provided by hats and charity ride t-shirts. The bonfire was then brought to full glory in the form of brightly colored cycling jerseys. One might think that the next logical step is to re-paint my truck with the image of my favorite beer label (this thought has been considered and rejected).

Unlike my wife, however, I don’t see this as a bad thing. I like to be surrounded by little reminders of the important events in my life. A lot of the souvenirs that we collect just end up shoved to the back of shelf or stuffed in a box in the top of a closet, never to be seen again. I get to wear my memories every day. They are a constant reminder of the good times, the hard fought battles and the people who fought beside me.

They also serve as conversation starters at times. Some one will see one of my charity ride shirts and ask, ”Hey, where did you get that?” This opens the door for me to reply with something like, “I had to ride 160 miles to get this shirt!” Then we are off and running, swapping war stories and sharing the pride and pain that are attached to this special garment. Let’s see an off the rack Izod shirt do that!

This effect isn’t limited to the event shirts in my collection. One evening I was standing in the airport waiting for my luggage sporting a “Fat Tire Ale” shirt when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and was immediately greeted with a handshake and a big “thank you” for choosing to wear the logo proudly. It seems I had been spotted by a district manager for New Belgium Brewing and he felt the need to acknowledge, and encourage, my un-solicited advertising of his products. We had a brief but interesting conversation, shook hands again and parted ways, both a little uplifted by the chance meeting. Another positive human interaction brought to you courtesy of a ”shirt with writing on it.”

Now, I’m not saying that logo wear is the key to world peace. That would be too broad of a statement. The world has a delicate balance that must be maintained. For every good there is a bad; every positive has a negative… you know, the old Yin and Yang thing. The opposite of the apparel that I wear would be the kind that displays collage and professional sports logos. I have seen more than one fight started by the flashing of the wrong crest in the wrong bar or arena. Just try wearing a U of A jersey to an ASU game and see how long you last!

So what’s the final word on this subject? I don’t think there is one. The bottom line is that I like my logo apparel. I enjoy wearing it and sharing it with others. I realize that it’s not always the best choice based on the venue we will be visiting and I am trainable. Now, when we are getting dressed to go out, I’m usually the one questioning the dress code.

“Honey, are we going to a ‘no writing shirt’ place tonight?”

I'm Lazy, So...

Well, I still haven't written anything new so it looks like it's back to the old. This was written about 3 years ago after a non-cyclist asked me what a recover ride was. It got my brain perking, thinking about what it meant to me as opposed to the general population. Enjoy!

Recovery Rides

If you hang around cyclists long enough you’ll hear the term ”recovery ride” used quite often. The conversation might go something like this:

“So, how’d you do today?”

“I had a nice easy ride… very relaxing”

“See anybody else out there?”

“Yeah, at one point some loser on a piece of department store junk blew by me, but I just let him go. If I wasn’t on my recovery ride, I would have hammered it and dropped him like a bad habit!”

So, what is this recovery ride they speak of? It all depends on who you talk to. Most cyclists will tell you it’s an easy spin the day after a hard ride, like a century or a race; or maybe you spent the previous day climbing mammoth hills or doing intervals. The recovery ride works out all of the byproducts of the metabolic process and gets the kinks out of things. For me it’s something different.

Now before I can give my definition, I need to tell you a little about me and why I ride. I’m forty-something and not the best physical specimen around. I’ve been riding bikes off and on for most of my life, but didn’t get very serious about it until I was closing in on my 30^th year. Up to that time, riding was just another way to get from point A to point B if it wasn’t too far and I didn’t feel like driving. The bike spent most of the time on the back porch and my butt was behind the wheel of something with more horsepower. That changed thanks to good old Phoenix traffic jams and unreliable vehicles.

I was living on the west side at the time and working downtown at one of the hospitals. The traffic on the way home was always very slow. It was stop and start, taking several cycles to get through lights, and just generally frustrating. Then, just to add insult to injury, car problems set in. I hated riding the bus, so the bike became my primary mode of transportation by default.

During this stint as a bike commuter I discovered a couple of things that surprised me. First, it usually took me 40 to 45 minutes to drive home in the crush of cars that clogged the streets in the afternoon… it only took me 27 minutes on the bike! The second thing I discovered was even more surprising. By the time I cranked myself past all of the poor helpless souls trapped in their stalled, smoking boxes on wheels and rolled into the driveway at home, the stress of the day seemed to have disappeared. I was literally burning off all of the bad energy clouding my brain and infecting my body. What started out as a negative situation was having a positive effect; I was becoming a happier person.

Do you remember what it was like as a kid when you learned to ride a bike? For me, it was my first real taste of freedom. The bike was my magic carpet, taking me to places that were previously out of reach or required parental participation. In commuting by bike, I had rediscovered that freedom. I was no longer confined by my petroleum-fueled prison. I could feel the wind flowing over me and see the world unobstructed.

Emotion became my fuel of choice now. I could take all of the anger, frustration and disappointment, stress… whatever was nagging me, and concentrate the energy, focus it on the pedals and fly! I’d spin like a man possessed, burning away the blackness until all that remained was the pure joy of being one with this fantastic machine that had given me such a gift… and this brings me back to where we started.

So, what’s my definition of a recovery ride? Well, when you consider the mental and spiritual benefits I reap every time I climb in the saddle and set the wheels in motion, there can be only one answer… every ride is a recovery ride!

My Pathracer Build

OK, another story about one of my bikes... see a trend developing here? One of the places I hang out on line is fixedgeargallery.com. For the last couple of years they have been sponsoring a bike building contest, usually with some unusual twists. For 2007 the theme was Path Racer bikes, a turn of the century (the last one, not this one) style of off and on road fixed racer. We had a couple of months to complete the projects and (here's the twist) a budget limit of $187!

Rather than reprint the entire write-up here, along with all of the pictures, I will provide a link to the article posted on Fixed Gear Gallery. Hope you enjoy the story. Oh, and the bike took second place!

More Old Stuff

Here's a little ditty that's kind of related to the last story (same bike). This was written in the summer of 2006, right after it happened.

The Birthday Ride
July 21, 2006

As I’m pushing the half-century mark, birthdays are becoming a scary thing for me. Getting older never seems to get any easier, but I’m finding ways to deal with it. I have one birthday tradition that seems to help put things in perspective for me. Every birthday, like many other cyclists, I ride my age in miles; one mile for every year. To increase the challenge and make things more interesting, I’ve also added another twist to it. I now do my birthday ride on a bike that’s the same age as me; a 1959 Schwinn Traveler.

This was the first year I rode the “new” bike, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect. Most of my road bikes fall around the 20 pound mark; this one hit the scales somewhere north of 38 pounds. Riding 47 miles on this beast seemed a little daunting at first, but I figured if I can do 100 miles on a 20 pound bike I should be able to do half that on one weighing twice as much… right? Right or not, I was going to give it a shot.

I headed out a little before 6:00am. The overnight temperature was still hovering around 94F. Picture an old fat guy on an equally old three speed cruiser heading off into the sunrise. I decided my team kit might be a little much for this ride so I opted for black bib-shorts and a plain white jersey instead. I had considered mountain bike shorts, but I knew it was going to be hot, so I went for comfort.

About 5 or 6 miles into the ride the wind started to kick up... a head wind, of course! The first part of the ride contained most of the climbing so I had to do it into the wind; the temps were also rising rapidly as the sun got higher in the sky. I have no bottle holders on the '59 Schwinn, so I went with a Camelbak full of water and one Polar insulated bottle with Gatorade sticking out of my handlebar bag. Lord, I was a sight to behold!

Pushing a 38 pound 3-speed bike around in sweltering heat is no easy task, but I managed to keep a nice pace and only took one 5 minute rest stop at mile 24. My computer started to go a little crazy, dropping in and out, so I couldn't trust it. This meant that I had to stick to my pre-mapped route to insure I got my mileage. That removed my bail-out options to avoid the few hills I faced, but I coped.

I cruised along a nice clip, enjoying the ride much more than I had expected. I was starting to regain some of the joy of my youth, but that was about to change. As I rode west along my route, I was approached from behind by another cyclist. As he over took me he yelled, "GET THAT PIECE OF CRAP ON THE SIDEWALK!"

Let me tell you a little about this guy. He looked to be late twenties to early thirties and was riding a shiny red road bike with late-model 9-speed gearing on it. He was also wearing a brand new Phonak team kit. He hadn't even sweated the creases out of it yet. This was one day after Floyd Landis made his epic ride in the mountains of the 2006 Tour De France. The man stank of "Poser". He pissed off the wrong guy…

It didn't matter to me that I had 32 miles under my belt and was riding a half century old bike that weighed twice as much as his... IT WAS ON!!! I mashed the pedals and quickly closed the gap, jumping onto his back wheel. As we approached the next intersection I saw the walk light change to flashing red; I knew this meant I had 13 seconds before the light turned yellow. Timing my sprint, I shot out from behind him, hit third gear and stood on it! As I blew by I returned the favor and yelled, "GET THAT PIECE OF CRAP ON THE SIDEWALK!" right back at him!

Just as I hit the intersection, the light turned yellow. I dropped back into the seat and looked back over my shoulder. He was about 30 yards back and huffing hard as he jammed the brakes and got caught at the light. I looked at the computer; it showed a maximum speed of 28.3mph... not a bad sprint! I finished my ride with 47.3 miles and a big old grin plastered on my face.

I’m sure that guy doesn’t know it, but he gave me the best birthday present I got this year. I was handed the opportunity to win a little respect for myself and all of old guys out there puttering around on their faithful old steeds. Maybe he learned a lesson, maybe he didn’t, but I’m willing to bet he never forgets our little encounter; I know I never will!

*********

Note: The best part of this is that I ran into the same guy about six weeks later while riding my vintage Schwinn Paramount racing bike. Needless to say, he was shocked. We had a nice little talk about respecting you elders, then I proceeded to drop him again as I turned and rode up the steepest hill in the area!

Another Old Story

Here's another blast from the past (2005). I promise I'll start writing some new stuff soon... really! Until then, I'll just do my part for recycling!

A Cycle of Life

Like most people, I have many passions. I love photography, computers, writing and most of all, cycling. I try to find ways to combine them when I can. I carry a camera when I ride, and try to capture the moments in words as well. Last summer the writing and riding came together in an unexpected way.

A few years ago I started a new birthday tradition. On my special day I mount my trusty steed and ride one mile for every year of my life. This served me well for several years, but eventually became too easy as I became more fit. I needed to find a way to put the magic back into it… and I did.

The magic came in form of a “new” bike. I decided to seek out a bike that was made the same year I was born; a kindred spirit of sorts. My search ended with the purchase of a 1959 Schwinn Traveler bicycle in less than stellar condition. It was scratched, rusty, and in need of just about everything; it was perfect!

I started about the task of restoring it with great enthusiasm. I took everything apart, removed rust, polished chrome and greased bearings. As I was contemplating touching up the paint on the frame, something stopped me. I sat for a long moment looking at all of the scratches and chips, inspecting each carefully. For some reason I just couldn’t paint over them; then it hit me, they were telling me a story.

I ran my fingers over the cool steel tubes, feeling every imperfection like a blind man reading a page of Braille. The entire history of this bike was written in the scratches and wear marks peeking through the fading black paint; scars left by 46 years of use, much like the scars adorning my own body. The circular marks rubbed into the top tube; is this where the cable and lock that protected it from thieves hung? The wear bands on the seat stays from a book rack; perhaps this bike was responsible for transporting someone to a higher education… or simply a paper route.

This two wheeled treasure read like an old mystery novel. How many miles had it seen? What roads had it traveled? How many lives had it touched? My imagination ran wild with the possibilities. How could I just erase that with a little pigment and a brush?

The answer is… I couldn’t! In the end I came to the conclusion that I should go for preservation, not restoration. I carefully finished cleaning the frame without editing the story laid out before me, and sealed it up with a coat of wax before reassembling the bike.

As I ride this bicycle now, I do my best to respect it’s past and guarantee it’s future. It gets cleaned, adjusted and lubricated with great care, but I won’t panic if I put a scratch or two in the paint… I’ll simply look at it as adding my chapter to the story.

Old, Fat and Bloody

Here's an oldie, but a goody. This was one of the first pieces I sat down and banged out on the keyboard. It's a little rough, as I had not yet developed my "voice" (or a firm grip on proper English). This was written in about 2002 and had to do with my introduction to the world of mountain biking. Lord help an old roadie...

Teaching an Old Dog New Tricks

Let’s get a few details out of the way first. I’m over forty, over weight and over the hill. Years ago I was road biker, not a good one, but I was out there cranking and feeling pretty cool about it. I would ride to work right through the heart of Phoenix during rush hour. This was not very popular with most of the vehicles I encountered along my route, but I held my head high and held my lane position. Needless to say, my wife thought I was nuts, but she learned to live with it. I only had one minor incident during this time, but it really wasn’t as bad as the paramedics made it out to be.

This is also when I started doing charity rides. It gave me my first taste of riding with a group. I discovered the joy of drafting and the high that comes from knowing you are pulling about 40 other riders behind you at a 26 mph pace. I was on top of the world. I did the MS150 ride out of Phoenix for 5 years in a row and loved every turn of the cranks. But then age started to catch up to me, or so I thought.

I started to have some joint pain. Next came muscle pain. By the time I finished a 20 mile ride, my knees would be screaming and my legs would be on fire. I just couldn’t do it any more, so I parked the bike in the garage and parked my butt on the couch. I figured bikes were for kids and it was time I started to act my age… big mistake.

Five years and 85 lbs later I found out what the real problem was. For years my doctor had me on a medication to lower my cholesterol. At the suggestion of my wife, I was taken off of it in the spring of 2001. Within a week my knees were feeling better, my joints stopped hurting and the muscle pain was gone. I was overjoyed! It was like some one had turned back the clock. One of the first things I did was dust off my bike and climb back into the saddle. My trusty steed groaned under the added load, but it held up.

My legs seemed to instantly recall the cadence, and that familiar feeling of freedom I remember started to return. My pace was much slower now due to the time off and the added weight, but I was back at it and that was all that mattered to me. I didn’t know it yet, but the real fun was just around the corner. I was about to get my introduction to mountain biking.

At the urging of Josh, my niece’s husband and an avid mountain biker 15 years my junior, I decided to take to the dirt and see how the other half lived. The first thing I needed was a bike. I didn’t see the point in sinking major bucks into the latest technology until I knew if I was even going to like it, so I bought a used hard-tail from an Oregon-State police auction on eBay and fixed it up. After a couple of loops around the forest to get used to the shifting, I was ready to take the plunge, and what a plunge it was!

It was a beautiful July morning and the sun was just coming over the mountains east of the valley as we loaded the bikes in the truck and took to the highway. We were heading for McDowell Mountain Park, an area with trails developed specifically for bikes. My wife’s last words to Josh as we went out the door were something like, “Don’t bring him back broken”.

Now let me ask you this; if you were taking someone out for the first time, where would you start him out? Would you choose to find a dirt road somewhere, or maybe a gently rolling trail? Well, McDowell Mountain is a competitive track consisting of three loops, the Sport Loop, the Technical Loop and the Long Loop. Do you see anything in there named the Beginners Loop? I think you see where this is going…

When we arrived at the park, we were almost alone. This being central Arizona in July, most people had already finished their rides and headed for the bagel shop. We unloaded the bikes, checked the map, took a few snapshots and headed for the Sport Loop. This was the real thing now and I was ripe with anticipation.

The trail started off easy enough. It was twisty and rolling, kind of fun, but having no technical skills yet I took it slow. Then the first hill reminded me just how long I had been off of a bike. I had to stop and catch my breath at the top, allowing a little extra time for my breakfast to make it’s way from the top of my throat back down to my stomach. (Note to self: no McDonalds right before a ride!)

As we began the next leg of our adventure, I found myself staring down a steep drop with a quick run back up the other side followed by another downhill. The whole thing wound up with a hard right at the sandy bottom of a wash before the next climb. After watching Josh’s technique, I stood up on the pedals, hung my butt behind the seat and down the hill I went. I flew up the other side, over the top and down the next drop. I checked my speed down and, thankfully, I was able to get off of the bike without incident when I buried the front tire in the sand during my turn. I had survived my first technical section!

My adrenalin was pumping now so I was able to grind my way up the next hill without too much trouble. At the top, the trail became pretty flat with occasional twists and small rolls. I picked up my speed a little. I was starting to get the rhythm now, and my confidence soared. “So, this is what mountain biking is like”, I thought to myself. Not at all like the steady spin of the road, more like a roller coaster ride! The roller coaster was about to jump the track…

As we started down into the next big wash Josh was about 40 yards in front of me. He was showing a great deal of restraint, trying not to get too far ahead even though I could tell he wanted to just cut loose and fly. This is where I had my first encounter with washboards. This encounter ended with my front tire in a bush, but I was still upright and undaunted. I backed out of the brush and pointed down the hill once more as Josh flew up the other side.

When I rounded the corner at the bottom of the hill, things really started to go wrong. I swung a little wide and my front tire clipped a fist-sized rock. Not being used to front suspension, I overcorrected instead of just letting the shock absorb it. The front tire started to snowplow sideways in the loose dirt, catching a root. The bike stopped; I didn’t. According to Josh I was talking all the way down. He said it was the first time he had heard a running commentary during a crash from the person who was doing the crashing!

As the dust settled, I picked my self up and uttered a few choice words, blood seeping from several new openings in my body. I limped over, stood what was left of my bike up and started to inspect the damage. Josh was flying back down the hill toward me. As he closed in his first words to me were, “ Don’t move! Let me get the camera!” I had now been baptized into the brotherhood. I had dirt in my blood, literally, and he seemed to feel it was important to document the occasion. I understood the need and struck a pose.

After the photo session concluded we assessed the damage to both bike and body. I wasn’t too concerned about the blood that was now covering my entire right forearm and running into my glove. I was more concerned with the front wheel of my bike as it now resembled something you would order at Taco-Bell. We were a mile and a half into a four mile loop and this puppy wasn’t rolling anywhere. I was not happy that I wouldn’t be able to finish the ride. Josh informed me that the fact that first-aid was of no concern to me at this point meant that I was going to be a real mountain biker.

We briefly discussed our options at this point. I told Josh to go on around the loop and finish his ride while I toted my mangled mess back the way we came. After a little urging he agreed and we set off in opposite directions. Josh was now free to cut loose and fly while I was grounded, pushing my bike on the back wheel.

I was more than a little disappointed about being on foot and with every step I moved farther away from disappointment and closer to anger. It only took about 100 yards to reach totally ticked off! I figured since I rode this hunk of metal in, I was going to ride it out. I threw the bike on the ground, lined up on the front tire and stomped! I repeated the process until the front wheel was straight enough t0 clear the fork as it rolled, unhooked the front brake so it wouldn’t rub and climbed on. The ride wasn’t exactly smooth, but it was still a ride and that’s what I came out here for.

The next problem I faced was that I was now going the wrong way on a one-way trail. In the distance I could see the paved road that lead back to the park entrance. I shouldered my bike and danced through the cactus and rocks until I reached the pavement, jumped back on and cranked the pedals. You should have seen Josh’s face when I rolled back into the parking lot bleeding, tires wobbling but in the saddle!

We loaded up and headed for home, a little worse for the wear, but happy. I don’t think I stopped talking the whole time, reliving the experience in slow motion and trying to learn from it. When we pulled up to the house, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but Josh had the situation well in hand.

As we came through the door he spoke up, “We didn’t go riding. We got tattoos instead! Bob’s looks a lot like a cut!”

With that I proudly raised my arm to show of the mark pride I had acquired. Debi was not happy… “ WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?”

Josh protested, “I knew she was going to blame me for this!”

After a round of story telling and a shower to remove the gravel from under my skin, all was forgiven.

It’s been more than a year since that fateful day and a lot has happened in that time. I completed the MS150 ride for the first time in 6 years, lost 50 pounds and bought a new full suspension mountain bike. With that first crash on that first trail, I was sold. I knew I would be doing this for a long time.

The other thing that this experience has taught me is that bikes aren’t just for kids. They are for making you feel like a kid again. Growing old is inevitable, but growing up is optional.

A lot of people have been telling me I need to start blogging, so... time to take the plunge! I've been writing essays based on my cycling experience for several years now, so that's a great place to start. In the next few days I will start posting some of my older stories; the new ones will come as I get properly inspired.

UB