The Well Worn Trail

I've been slacking lately - not doing the work I should be doing - on several projects, this blog being one of them. I'm not sure what the reason is behind this lack of motivation, but for the time being I'm blaming it on a gloomy winter that dragged out into a reluctant spring.  And though the weather seems as if it has finally decided that spring is here I'm not quite back into the swing of things yet.  Yard work remains to be done, and my bike is in the shop having a bunch of stuff replaced, repaired, or re-adjusted.  But I'm starting to feel the caveman stirrings of the blood that are indicators of summer activity, so it seems like a good time to dust off the keyboard and update the blog.

We had a nice rain event a couple of weeks ago, one that had me watching the Accuweather precipitation total maps and the USGS real time streamflow gauges.  I managed to get in two nice whitewater kayak trips while the water was up, and had pretty much decided that I was going to write a post about paddling Wolf Creek.  But then this weekend, with my bike in the shop, I decided to go for a short hike on a familiar trail instead.  So that's today's story.

Slippery Rock Creek is NW Pennsylvania's most reliably running whitewater creek.  It's just to the east of New Castle, and about an hour's drive from my house in eastern Ohio.  The best whitewater section of the creek is in McConnells Mill State Park, where you can paddle about five miles of class II-III rapids when the water is up.  This is where I learned to paddle whitewater, and I've made literally hundreds of runs down the gorge.



Me on Slippery Rock Creek in 1999, in my old Pirouette.  Note the bike helmet...

I had thought that my weekend was pretty much scheduled full, but then I unexpectedly got a couple of hours of free time, and needed to find a quick adventure that I could fit in.  There was a light rain falling, but that wasn't a problem.  So I packed up a bit of gear and headed east into Pennsylvania.

This trail runs down the gorge alongside the creek, right alongside the best of the whitewater - "The Mile" as it's known to local paddlers.  I've hiked it dozens of times, from the downstream end back up to the parking area by the ranger station, as a finale for solo kayaking trips on the creek.  But it's been three years since I've been on The Mile, and I've only been down by the creek a few times lately, so it seemed like a good idea to revisit this beautiful spot.

I parked up at the Point parking area, and hiked down the stairs into the gorge.  The highest points on the surrounding ridge are more than 400 feet above the creek, so there can be a bit of up and down if you're hiking in this area.



 

 

Once down by the creek I can see that it's at a nice juicy level, high enough that a paddle down would be a serious blast.  There had been a big rain early in  the week, and I knew that the water would likely be high, but it's still nice to see the rocks covered and hear the muted roar of whitewater echoing from downstream.  The rain and warm weather have been good to the forest too, and its beginning to show signs of spring.  The wildflowers are starting to bloom, and the trees are showing buds.  Everything seems a bit greener and the smell of wet earth fills the air.

 

 





 

 

The way is open and obvious, but not necessarily easy.  With the steep gorge walls squeezing the creek, the trail sometimes has to climb up quite a ways to find a path downstream.  The boulders that constrict the creek and create the whitewater also litter the banks, so that the trail involves a good deal of scrambling up and over.  It's one of those trails where you have to watch your footing the whole time, lest you catch a toe and tumble down the banks to end up in the water.  Yet despite the hazard it is an overwhelmingly beautiful place.  The hemlocks that line the creek give a dark, majestic presence to the narrow gorge, standing tall over grey lichen-encrusted boulders lining the perpetual movement of the creek.  Silent wildflowers grow among niches where wild bird songs compete with the drip of water down sheer rockfaces.  This is a special place, and I'm lucky to know that it's here.

 



 

 

Midway along the trail you come to McConnells Mill, a restored grist mill powered by the waters of the creek.  Here the water pools up behind a dam, and boaters must get out of the creek and portage around to the rapids below. 

 

 

 

 Looking over the creek from the observation deck I see a Great Blue Heron fishing in the water below the dam.  I've seen several people fishing along the creek already, as well as a pair of kingfishers, but the heron seems to be oblivious to everything else but the water.

 

 

 

As I hike down the trail I scout each rapid - a habit left over from the days when I paddled every weekend.  Some of the rapids seem very familiar, and I can easily remember the line needed to make it through smoothly.  Other rapids seem almost unfamiliar, and I study them trying to remember the approach, the move, and the exit.  Funny how something that once seemed as familiar as my own signature can gain distance over a couple of years.  As I hike along I promise myself that I'll get my boat back on the Slip this summer, when the water is nice and low, and re-establish my connection with the creek.  I've truly enjoyed the last five years of mountain biking, but I find that I'm missing whitewater more and more.

 



 

 

The hike takes an hour and a half to cover just over three miles.  The rain had stopped somewhere along the line, but I'm still soaking wet with sweat as I climb up the stairs back to the car.  Back in the day I used to run this trail from the take-out back to the Mill, carrying a paddle in one hand and wearing a life jacket.  Hell, I even carried my 50 pound boat the whole distance before.  Just goes to show that time goes on, despite our best efforts to ignore it.

 

It's going to be a great summer. I can't wait.

Holding my Breath

Well, I've hit a temporary road block in my writing project so I thought I'd try to get the magic word-juice flowing again by putting together a blog post update.  It was unsettling to find that I really didn't know what to write - usually words practically run out of my fingers, but this time I couldn't even think of a topic.  So what I'm doing is an unplanned, non-topical, let-it-flow type post to try to help me figure out what the hell the problem is.

Winter, such as it is in these days of a warming planet, has been particularly grueling for one who's accustomed to spending a sizable amount of time outdoors.  It's not that we've had a lot of snow, or even a little snow for a long time.  The problem is the constant freeze/thaw as the season struggles to find it's identity.

The ground took a long time to freeze this year.  Even after the first substantial snowfall the ground beneath was soft and wet.  That means no mountain biking, since the dirt was taking ruts through the snow.  And before it could freeze solid the temps climbed, the snow melted, and the mud deepened.  This has been the pattern for most of the winter.  I think I've managed to get in three or four winter mtb rides this year - which is definitely not enough.

The other side of the coin (or maybe a different facet of the same side) is that there hasn't been any real snow accumulation - once again because of the constant passing of the freeze/thaw line.  A couple of inches of snow will fall, and then the temps climb and it melts.  And then another inch or two of snow will fall, and the whole thing starts again.  So the big flush of water into the creeks that happens when eight to twelve inches of snow melts hasn't happened this season - and that means that there hasn't been enough water to bring those favorite hidden creeks up to a decent level to kayak.

To summarize: not enough cold or warm to mountain bike, and not enough snow melt to kayak.  Sucks.

We did have an interesting high water event about ten days ago.  There was a bit of snow on the ground, then the temps came up and it rained - which melted all the snow and pumped up the waterways quite a bit.  I watched the USGS water gauges climb to a potentially fun level, but didn't even consider taking a half-day off to chase water.  Why?  Because after missing out on the flu earlier in the year I'd managed to get a lovely head cold, which has now worked it's way down into a respiratory infection.  So instead of enjoying the best paddling opportunity of the winter I'm sitting around sounding like I'm breathing through a milkshake.  I've been pretty lucky lately in avoiding these respiratory issues, but this one is starting to worry me.  The first bout of antibiotics appears to have been overmatched by the petri dish of germs that is my lungs, and I'm on the verge of getting another doctor appointment to see if I can get something stronger.  The next stop is usually a stay in the hospital, and I definitely DO NOT WANT THAT.

Perhaps the reason I'm not able to write is that I'm just in a winter funk. Not able to get out and have fun (though I have been to some interesting trail work days), not feeling well, tired of the dark, not happy about turning 50, etc.  Usually my mood gets a boost at the passing of the shortest day of the year at the winter solstice, but this time it didn't seem to do the trick.  Perhaps next weekend, when daylight savings time gives me back another hour of daylight after work I'll feel better.  We'll see...

One thing I can say is that after sitting here and forcing myself to write this at least I find that the words are starting to flow a little easier.  Maybe I should just sit down with my 'writing project' and force myself to put some words down.  If it doesn't seem to be any good I can just delete it, but maybe I'll get something worth keeping.

Here's hoping things improve in the next couple of weeks.

Trail Building: Making the Move to Become Involved

Everybody that rides a bike on singletrack has probably at some point wondered about the origin of the trail that they're using. More casual trail users, such as people who might get out for a hike or ride a couple times a year, may not consider such an issue, but those of us who are out on the trail nearly every weekend have a significant relationship with the trails we frequent.

Years ago, before I started riding, I didn't really think about where the trails I walked came from. If asked I would have guessed that they were either really old trails that were still in use or that they had been built by the CCC during the depression (an idea fostered by years of hiking at Mill Creek Park). And if the issue was pressed further I would have probably said that the park rangers took care of the trails and made sure that they were safe for us to use.

Well, those ideas are somewhat off base. We do still have a number of trails in our part of the country that date back to the CCC days, but there are very few that are any older. And with decades of shrinking state park budgets the idea of park rangers spending hours maintaining trails is becoming less and less real.

The truth of the matter is that many of the trails we ride were imagined by average trail users, be they hikers or mountain bikers. These people had an idea, pushed to have their ideas accepted, and then spent the hours to make them real. Some of these projects were years in the making, and took the efforts of dozens if not hundreds of volunteers. Most of the trails we ride in this area have this history - West Branch, Beaver Creek, Reagan Park, Moraine. As riders we owe a huge debt to the people who had the vision and energy to create the trail systems we love.

Those of us who have spent hours and hours on the trails, who have gotten the enjoyment of great rides for year after year, should consider what our role is in this history. Mountain biking has seen a huge increase in popularity over the last two decades, of which a large part rides on the backs of the first generation of mtb volunteers. These are the people who took our trails from poorly built rogue trails along railroad and powerline rights of way to the well designed, sustainable trails that we enjoy today. They fought resource managers for the chance to prove that they could be a responsible user group and could make a positive impact on our parks. The amount of resistance that had to be overcome by this first generation was immense, yet they persevered. And now we get to spend our free time enjoying the fruits of their labors - great singletrack spread all across the state.

 

It's perhaps pushing things a bit to say that those who use the trails the most have a responsibility to get involved with trail building and maintenance. There is no real obligation to give something back to the things that you have gotten benefit from. But as members of a sport that wouldn't exist if not for the efforts of volunteers, its not only part of our tradition, its an investment in our own riding future. Thanks to the efforts of that first generation of mtb trail builders everyone in Ohio is within an hour or so drive of some sort of legal trail. With continued effort from today's riders we can open more trails to mountain bikes and we can create more miles of high quality, sustainable trails.
 

If you're a rider and are interested in getting involved with the trail building aspect, but hesitate because of the level of physical labor involved, consider this: it takes no more effort than an average ride, and provides an excellent cross training exercise. Plus, our trail stewards aren't there to crack the whip and make you miserable - you work at your own rate, on jobs suitable for you, and you quit when you want. Our trail work days range from two hours to five hours, depending on the weather and the task at hand. Any time that you can give to help is gratefully accepted.
 

If you're hesitant to get involved because you wonder about coming in to a tightly knit group of builders who will look down on an inexperienced newbie, you need not worry. Our trail building days have a strong social side to them, with groups of volunteers involved in conversations ranging from jokes to trail tails to environmental and political concerns. People take breaks as needed to rest, get some water or a snack, and check out the work being done by their fellow workers. The experienced builders are always willing to take time to explain the concepts behind a job and to listen to alternate ideas for any section of trail. While we do get a tremendous amount accomplished at a typical trail work day, we also have a lot of fun and get a real chance to socialize with our fellow riders and club members.
 

This may sound like a lot of the same old talk trying to get people to be involved in a cause, but there is a basic truth behind it. If we as riders don't get involved in building and maintaining our trails then they will eventually just cease to exist. We all know we don't want that - what we want is MORE and BETTER trails. And that won't happen either unless we show up and make our contribution. We can make a difference for riders in our area, and you can be a part of it. Be a trail builder. 

 

Note: This is an article I wrote for the Rust Belt Revival Trail Coalition e-newsletter that I put together every month.  If anyone out there is interested in reading these newsletters let me know through the 'comments'.

Paddling and Pedaling

There was a time, not long ago, when I considered myself a kayaker, not a mountain biker.  Before Labor Day weekend 2008 I spent most of my free time paddling the whitewater creeks of western Pennsylvania.  Back then my bike was only occasionally used, mostly for running shuttle on solo kayaking runs.  My passion was for being on the water, and I couldn't imagine that changing.  In my paddling days I had a streak of over 10 years where I was on the water at least once a month - winter or summer.  And don't think that meant I got in 12 trips a year either.  My paddling journal shows that I got in between 70 and 90 days on the water each year during that period. But after that first mountain bike ride I knew there was a huge appeal for me to get into the sport.   And now I try to ride my bike five days a week, with at least two of them being singletrack days.

With fall coming the weather has gotten wetter and cooler, leaving our trails in less than perfect condition while at the same time letting the creeks get their first significant water for quite a while.  So when the weekend rolled around and it looked bad for riding, but good for paddling, I went through my boating gear, loaded the boat onto the car and headed over to a run that I hadn't done in at least two years.  Slippery Rock Creek is a beautiful little gorge near New Castle, Pennsylvania that I have probably paddled at least 150 times.  The lower section is an easy run that I felt comfortable in running solo at a low level, and I had a great afternoon on the water (see a short GoPro vid here).  I even returned the next day and paddled it again with my brother (another whitewater paddler turned mountain biker). 


I had been thinking about writing a post about the whitewater experience, but decided to try to compare and contrast whitewater kayaking with mountain biking.  I'm still not sure how a guy like me got so involved in riding mtb, so maybe this will provide me with some insight.

There are a several things that the two activities have in common.  The most obvious is the setting, since both are outdoor sports that take mostly take place in 'wilderness' surroundings.  I've always loved being in the woods, and have been attracted to camping, backpacking and other outdoors pursuits since I was a little kid.  A day in the woods is rarely a waste of time.

Both entail a certain amount of risk.  Recently two very well known kayakers have died while making whitewater runs - Jeff West in Alaska and Alan Panebaker in New Hampshire.  I've been involved in the sport for long enough that I've seen too many young men give their lives striving to master the rapids.  As I age I find this to be more and more disturbing, yet it's a decision that each person has to be allowed to make on their own.  No one expects to die when they get in their boat at the top of a run, though they always know there is that chance.  We always expect our skill and judgement to be adequate to the challenge.  I had a very close call early in my paddling history that I was VERY lucky to escape alive.  I credit that with giving me a greater sense of caution, one that might have kept me from making a deadly mistake somewhere on the river.

The risks associated with mountain biking are different.  There are much less chances of death, but that is balanced with the greater risk of injury.  Most pro or expert riders have tales of broken bones and other injuries that have come with their years spent on a bike.  I've broken both bones in my left leg, and then the next year severely torn the cartilage in my left knee (and don't forget the fractured skull riding on the street in front of my house).  I'll be feeling that knee injury every step for the rest of my life.  Still, my wife is glad to see me riding mountain bikes rather than paddling so much.  She knows the risks as well, and would rather have a gimpy husband than a dead one.

Each sport requires a special set of skills, developed with experience and time.  The balance of the rider and the craft for each is a special, non-intuitive relationship that is a result of trial and error.  But there is a strange correlation between the boat and bike, and how the rider has to be one with them in order to advance.  When I was on the water last month I was amazed at the similarities in control that I was experiencing.

Both sports have aspects that allow the dedicated to get involved beyond the actual ride.  I've been a streamkeeper for American Whitewater for over 15 years, providing information for other paddlers (like the lower Slip write-up linked to above) on creeks that I'm familiar with, and also taking efforts to keep the streams hazard free by cutting out downed trees.  Being a person who's always been fascinated with maps I also got involved in a 7 year long effort to map the whitewater streams and watersheds of the eastern United States.  In mountain biking I continued my mapping by making maps of local trail systems, and I'm attempting a much larger map of the bicycling opportunities in Allegheny National Forest.  But my biggest contribution to mountain biking has come through trail building, which has now become a large part of the pastime for me.  I am also now one of the founders (and secretary) of a new mountain bike club for eastern Ohio, Rust Belt Revival Trail Coalition, where my opportunities for trail building will only grow.

Both activities are dependant on the weather and those who are more aware of these conditions are rewarded with greater opportunities to get out there.  Both require reliance on gear that must be kept in good working order to minimize risk.  Both can be done solo or with a group. Both have a heavy reliance on safety gear and risk assessment.  And participants in each love to photograph or video their exploits for enjoyment in future days.  Both have a 'season' but can be largely pursued year long by the more obsessed.  And both can provide a huge adrenaline boost when you're in the groove and everything is happening right.

The main difference that I can see is the exertion and fitness level required.  I used to think that I was getting a good workout when I spent an afternoon paddling, and it did strengthen my upper body quite a bit.  But the overall fitness required by mountain biking is a step above that needed in whitewater.  A mountain biker also needs to have strong upper body and core, but obviously requires heavily developed leg muscles as well.  The endurance aspect is what really separates the two.  Cardio and respiratory strength is really the basis for mountain biking, probably as much as leg strength.  As a person with respiratory problems I never would have thought that something like mountain biking would have appealed to me, but as I've worked my way into the sport I've found that my breathing has gotten much better (although it will never be on par with the average rider).  My doctors have been impressed with my respiratory strength and recovery time - in other words while my lungs still don't work that great, the breathing muscles are strong and when I get out of breath I recover very quickly.

I think that the central appeal for me, for both whitewater and mountain biking, is the challenge and the counterbalancing necessity to realize your own limits.  Being on a rapid, there is no question who is in charge of the situation (and it's not the guy in the boat) and the challenge lies in the ability to pick a line, use your skills and guide your craft safely through.  When on a trail there is no active opposition - unless you count gravity - but the task is remarkably similar.  You must pick a line through the rocks, use your skills and ride your bike safely through.  And, being of relatively sound mind, I've chosen the wiser course many, many times by portaging around a sketchy rapid or walking the bike past a risky rock feature.  Every thing in its own time, even if that time is never.

Imagine that

It seems that I'm back in the groove now, and managing to maintain a fairly steady ride schedule again.  Looking back into the recent past of three weeks ago, I find it difficult to explain why I was missing so many opportunities to get out and do something (like ride a bicycle maybe).  Motivation is such a tricky thing, involving mood, stress, scheduling, percieved versus actual results, etc.  Realizing that it is such an incredibly complex thing makes me doubt any sort of "motivational" expert right from the start.  How someone can think that they have the methods to overcome all those individual motivational roadblocks is beyond me.

In my twenties and thirties, after spending years making myself lift weights, I found my workout routines lasting for less time and my desire to exercise vanishing.  Then when I started paddling all the time I found it was a mildly good workout for my shoulders and upper body, and I would do it as often as I could.  Now that I've started riding mountain bikes the workout level has skyrocketed.  Since I enjoy it so much it never seems like a chore to get a workout in. 

So it seems obvious to me - if you want to be fit, find an exercise that you actually enjoy.  Not something that you can tolerate, or make yourself do twice a week.  Make it something that you really like, so much that you do it as often as possible.  So much that you'll gladly do other, not-so-fun exercise to make it easier to do the FUN stuff.  Amazingly simple, right?

Hogback Ridge, part of Lake County Metroparks

Actually, I'm afraid that is likely to be WRONG.  That is the kind of thinking that convinces those motivational speaker guys that they should go out and tell other people their brilliant ideas in order to make life perfect.  Upon further consideration it would seem that some people are not ever going to find something physical that they can truly enjoy.  For some people the cost of extended effort, physical fatigue and risk of injury will never be worth the adrenaline and accomplishment of any kind of intense physical activity, be it running, dance, karate, swimming or even mountain biking.  For these people, overcoming this particular motivational roadblock must be even more difficult.  I'd make a lousy motivational speaker I guess, because with only my one insight - I have no answers for the difficult questions.

Looking at my MapMyRide workout sheet for back to the last time I posted 11 days ago, it looks like I had a ride every day except for two, and one of those off days I did three hours of trail work as well as rototilling my Mom's garden.  Those nine ride days included five days of singletrack, and totalled out at around 90 miles.  With the local trails at West Branch State Park finally reopening (actually, reopening early this year), I've been able to head out there a couple of times and get in quick rides when I have only two hours or so of free time.  Plus I also got in a longer ride too, that surprisingly enough didn't even make me feel like I was going to die at the end.  Things bode well for an epic ride day in my near future - if I can just get everything to fall in place so that I can get four or so hours of free time...

A friend of mine from the rail trail.

I'm also back on the regular schedule for trail work.  This weekend we had a nice work day at North Road, maintaining the old trail and pushing on the new. Last weekend Eric and I got in a good day of work down at Beaver Creek, cutting in more bench on the hillside trail above the creek.  It's not exactly fast work, but it is rewarding to see such interesting new trail slowly emerging from the hillside.  We came across a section that was just full of big rocks, jumbled up on top of each other with little actual dirt between them - Eric called it the cannonball farm, and that summarized it nicely.  We took a bit of extra time and fashioned a rock roadway across the section, made of rocks up to about 250 pounds.  This should be a blast to ride, and even a nice surface for walkers.

Eric on the roadway at the cannonball farm.

I got out this evening for just over an hour on the singletrack at West Branch.  I had a great time, and even felt good on the hills.  I'm lucky.  I'm lucky  that though things may be stressful in the rest of my life, riding through the woods can bring me back to earth and put things in perspective.  I'm lucky that something as simple as biking can give me so much.  And I'm really lucky that my one insight into motivation actually applies to me.

Keep on riding folks.

Back at it again

Last week I confidently proclaimed that I would get my lazy butt off the couch during weekday evenings and make myself ride at least five days out of the next seven.  And that there is the whole problem with the internet - it's available to the public.  See, if I had been disgusted with myself and muttered under my breath "Hey slacker, you need to pry yourself out of that chair and ride your bike five days this week" - no one would have heard it, and then no one would know if I didn't actually do it.  But since I'm foolish enough to put it on my blog - which is available to the general public - it kind of puts it out there so that I at least feel obligated to do what I said.  So in one way - that of providing motivation - it's good.  But it also removes the easy way out, so that can be a problem.

I started out the week well, with a singletrack ride down at Beaver Creek.  It was just a short ride, since my weekday riding time is also short - but at least I spent an hour riding the dirt.  Then I set myself up for failure by not riding for the next two days, which meant I had to ride the next four days straight or not make my goal.  Way to plan out your week, Steve.

But there was a chance to pull it off, since I had the weekend available to fit the next two rides into.  I got in a ride on the rail trail on Saturday, which does count even though it's pretty boring.  Then on Sunday I got Diana to accompany me on a drive down to Beaver Creek, where I got in another short ride while she napped in the car at the campground.  So that was good - five days past with three rides down.  Still could work...



Beaver Creek State Park

Kenny went to his fifth grade camp for three days starting Monday, and Diana worked till late, so when I got home after work the house was empty.  That worked pretty well for me, as I quickly changed and headed out to ride around town for a while.  I've been more careful in picking my route lately, just hitting up the low-traffic suburban side streets and keeping away from congestion as much as possible.  But still it seems to me that I have to keep on my toes so much more in town than on singletrack.  You never know when some nut will reverse out of a driveway between two houses just as you're riding past.  Then it's up to YOU to stay out from under those wheels, even though the driver has the responsibility to check before pulling out.  Give me rocks and roots any day...

Tuesday would be the last day of my week long cycle.  When I got home from work I was thinking about a ride around the neighborhood for a little while, maybe even a ride out on the rail trail.  But my wife, who knows how much all this riding contributes to keeping my questionable sanity at least tolerable, suggested that I take the time to head on out to Moraine and get in some dirt riding before dark.  And with her encouragement I packed up food, gear and bike in record time and headed on over to ride.  And it was a great ride, too.  Not too long, but sometimes you don't need a lot to feel good.  I hit some of my favorite tech sections, including a stretch I call The Big Rock Downhill.  Here the trail leaves the ridgetop and heads down over a hundred feet to cross the tiny brook in the valley below.  And on the way the trail builders have routed it over about 6 or 7 really well built rock features, using the huge boulders littering the hillside to make an unbelievable challenging and fun route.  I've ridden each feature successfully, even making a no-dab ride from the top almost to the bottom before.  But on Tuesday I was clearing the rocks with a combination of technique and power, not the bounce-n-bash style that I usually display.  After clearing the third tough section in a row - and doing it RIGHT - I realized the groove I was in and just pushed it as far as I could take it.  Don't be fooled into thinking that I'm extreme mtb guru, but for a 49 year old with not so great breathing I was pretty satisfied.

Moraine mtb trailhead

So I did make the 5 out of 7 for that week, and I'm going to try again for this week.  I started writing this up on Thursday, and I've managed to get in an hour on the rail trail Wednesday and 10 laps around my block (7.5 miles with 400 feet of climbing) on Thursday.  That gives me hope that I've gotten past my latest motivation drought and will continue to push myself at the level that I expect.  And Kenny is back from his summer camp experience, where he had a good time with his fellow fifth grade lunatics.  I'm glad that he got to go, but I'm even gladder to have him back home.  He's wanting to go for a canoe trip this weekend, so it looks like I'll be checking some water levels for the local waterways.  Might be an excellent chance to get some paddling video on the GoPro!

This one is for Diana

What it is - and another trip to Moraine

For my friends and family that don't ride - this post is about what it is that makes me want to take my bike out into the woods.

I've always loved being in the woods - it truly recharges me to spend time in nature. There is something about the silence in the woods, but when you really stop and listen you can hear the life around you - wind in the trees, birds calling, animals in the leaves. Whether hiking or paddling or riding, a day spent in the woods is rarely wasted time.  But it goes further than that.

Part of it is the challenge of doing your best to take your bike over difficult terrain.  I remember when I was kayaking a lot I occasionally would take a bike with me to help with the shuttle.  One time particularly stands out - a trip on Millstone Creek, that empties into the Clarion River in the Allegheny National Forest.  The shuttle consisted of a four mile trip along a rough gravel road with several small hills.  I started out at the foot of a hill - and only rode about 200 feet before I had to start pushing the bike.  I think I only rode about 1/2 mile out of the four, the rest I pushed the bike.  The terrain was just too tough for me - gravel and rocks - and hills.  But after riding mountain bikes for a couple of years I find that I seek out the trails that have the toughest, most technical terrain - and though I don't conquer the rocks, I do pretty darn good at not letting them conquer me.

Another part is the physical challenge.  Separate from the technical, skills facet lies the physical, strength part. It takes a lot of stamina to be able to deliver the level of energy that it takes to ride a bike across country.  Just look at the calories burned for a two hour mountain bike ride and you'll begin to see how much it takes.  And I'm just a middle aged guy with bad lungs who fools around at riding - imagine what it takes for the truly skilled riders who do 100 mile races with thousands of feet of elevation gains.  It's a stunning feat to be able to accomplish, truly a testament to the strength of the human body.  But for me, knowing that I can go out on a nice day and push myself hard for a couple of hours, making it home tired but happy - that is worth a lot.

And let's not forget the fun aspect!  Zipping down a hill between the trees, bouncing over the roots and climbing up the rocks, splashing through the creeks and mud - this is really a lot of fun.  With so many responsibilities and duties, it's not easy to feel like a kid again - and mountain biking does that for me.  Even though I've promised my wife I won't do the jumping-through-the-air stuff any more, the staying on the ground stuff is still a heck of a good time.

And I can do it without worrying about competing with anyone (I'm about as competitive as a rock) - I can ride with a group or on my own.  It helps clear my mind by requiring 100% of my  attention so that I have no time to worry about anything else.  It keeps me fit - I think I'm probably in better shape now than I was 20 years ago.  My breathing, while still problematic, is better than it's been for years.  And though I'm still clumsy as a bear in a bag, my balance and reactions seem to have improved as well.  All in all, it gives me something that I enjoy so much that I'm always looking forward to the next time I can do it.

I got out on Moraine again last Sunday as I had hoped.  Then I got some singletrack on Friday, then again today on Saturday when I headed back out to Moraine again.  This time I took a bunch of extra time to shoot some video, and I put together another short video for the days ride.  I know these little videos aren't spectacular - there are no bikes flying through the air, no spectacular desert scenery - but I enjoy making them.  I try to catch the feeling of the day, and the feeling of the sport for someone of my age and abilities.  This video starts off with the trip over to the trails - and I have to say that I enjoy this particular route quite a bit.  I parked back at the Alexander Road lot and rode a short loop down by the marina, then back up the switchback trail.



I've done pretty good with my exercise this last week, though I have to admit that I didn't eat very good last night.  Pizza and beer are good sometimes, even if they aren't exactly health food.  And it's not a sure thing, but I think I might be able to get out and ride again tomorrow - which would be a  really cool way to end the weekend.