I don’t mountain bike. I don’t own a mountain bike. I am a rode cyclist. Purely. But isn’t it strange that when my son comes into town with his mountain bike and asks me to go that I am immediately on the phone with a local bike shop trying to borrow one? Flat Rock Park, here I come!
Okay, let me back up. I have been asked several times to join mountain bike groups in the cold months. No, I say. Why? I have a strong tendency to love all forms of cycling. I pour too much money into rode cycling as it is and will only want to the ride the best and wear the best when it comes to mountain biking, if I am not extremely careful. My wife (also my CFO) is very patient and understanding with my current addiction to the road, so I need to be thankful for that and leave well enough alone.
Into the dirt and trees, Justin and I go. I was excited just to be with him and for him to show me some things about his love of cycling. The first thing I noticed is that the tires were freaking me out! Every time I went over a rock or log, the sound the tires made reminded me of what a rode bike tire makes when a puncture has occurred. Another thing was instinctively trying to avoid all gravel and rocks (and pointing to them) . . . impossible on a mountain bike trail . . . duh! The triple crank set and huge cassette were also a bit of an issue . . . so many gears for climbing! It kept me thinking about having that many options on a road bike with a 17-20% grade climb.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
I am just kidding! It’s not that bad, but for all of you who dabble in the world of the gyro you understand. And if that made you think of a sandwich, you are not deep enough into cycling yet.