Monthly Archives: March 2008

I have vociferously denigrated the Twilight trail, and to give up an oppositional relationship with it leaves me feeling hollow and empty inside like Lex Luther after he finally conquered Superman, but I have to say- it is improving. Don’t get me wrong, the signage is confusing, it is sandy like the outskirts of Fallujah, the intersections with Munson are actually intefering with Munson and muddying the flow a bit. The pink flags are an affront to nature, and the moonscape of the clear cut is shocking, but other than that, the Twilight is really shaping up- seriously.

-Juancho

S’quatch, ‘Tops, and I attended a meeting last night for the local mtb advocacy group. The new kid running the show is known around here as Roboboy, and he shows up from time to time. I am not very inspired to write about the meeting because my choices are limited. Roboboy is doing everything right really, and what’s the fun in that? Actually writing about trail advocacy would be torturous to everyone. You disagree? Let’s try it…

In order to optimize the parcel we need to lobby the various stakeholders and get them on board with the comprehensive surface re-grading vision of the county, state, federal, international, and intergalactic governing bodies of all user groups

You feel me? We can leave that to Aucilla, who somehow makes us care, probably because he is a known outlaw, and outlaws are cool.

The meeting had free beer and food, which the President probably paid for himself. It had multimedia displays, free swag like beer coozies and t-shirts, and a glimpse at some yet unreleased maps. (I took a pic with my camera phone but it didn’t come out.)

Land managers were there trying to manage land. What a thankless job they have. There is no pleasing everybody, that’s a guarantee.

There was however, this one guy worthy of a post all to himself. Very Cobra Kai, power stripes and yellow tie, extensive use of “air quotes”, and just aggro as could be. He kind of freaked me out.

Maybe I can arrange an exclusive interview.

-Juancho

There is “not riding your bike” and then there is “birds living in your helmet.”

I used to ride a lot with this guy Hambone, some of you may know him, but after receiving this picture from him I think I’m taking his number out of my little black book. He and his woman are having a baby- that’s right, she has a kid up inside her right now. It is Hambone’s job to make a safe and sound home where the eventual child can holler his or her little lungs out in peace.

Next thing you know he will be buying a recumbent.

As for the rest of us, oh boy. Things are happening fast in this town for the cycling community. Yesterday Mystery and I probably saw 15 or 20 riders east of town, including the entire Cobra Kai gang. They rode by chanting, “No Mercy No Remorse!” or something like that. There is a new section of skills-oriented bridges and jumps specifically designed for one to remove oneself from this mortal coil on the Fern trail, and of course that is where everybody congregated. It was like a skateboard ramp scene. What fun!

I look forward to a whole summer of falling off of logs.

I stayed up kind of late last night gripped by stories of moutaineering survival while reading
In the Zone by Peter Potterfield ( why does that name make me giggle?) In this compilation people huddle in the snow at 20,000 feet broken and battered before somehow crawling on bloody stumps through glacier fields and across crevasses to safety. Death is a character in almost every story.

I haven’t done any high mountaineering, but I have certainly gotten myself in some outdoor predicaments and probably have a few more in my future if I continue going on trips with Mystery the Untameable Stallion. In terms of survival it seems like two ingredients are essential: skill and will. Wanting to live is apparently not quite enough, you have to know some basics.

In my early climbing days in Montana I went out to the crags with Scott, the bartender from The Filling Station in Bozeman, MT. He was older and took me under his wing because we shared a last name, a cynical disposition, and a tendency for late nights. Scott chain-smoked Camel non-filters and talked through his teeth. He was a world-weary thirty-five to my dewy twenty-four. He wore his hair in a scraggly ponytail and enjoyed the full musical spectrum from Golden Earring to George Thorogood. One afternoon we climbed some unnamed cliffs out towards Norris Hot Springs. Upon reaching the second-pitch belay and rigging a rappel, I pulled out my “ATC” belay device and prepared to clip in and descend. Scott looked at it and asked, “Hey, that’s cute let me see that thing.”

Then he tossed it off the rock. “Now how are you going to get down?”

My mouth went dry and I shakingly reached for one of his smokes, as I thought perhaps I had made a horrible character judgement and Scott was about to kill me.

Instead, he taught me a skill that could one day save me. I learned how to build a carabiner brake system up on that ledge, improvising with gear we had available. Scott was adamant that just because I was from Florida I didn’t have to become a naive mountain casualty. The lesson has never left me.

-and my Mom worries if she brings me a triciclo from Mexico I will get killed crossing Monroe street on it.

-Juancho