Mustache Ride

Just ten days ago I was riding home while another "snow event" was shaping up. What was originally looking like a three day weekend mountain bike extravaganza was slowly turning into a shit storm right before my eyes. When I left the uptown there was only a random flake or two in the air, but by the time I got home 20+ minutes later I was liberally dusted.

A few hours later the roads were covered, my yard buried, and my dreams beyond crushed. I hadn't really ridden my mountain bike on a "trail" since January 18th, and all my week long dreaming of flying through the woods would remain just a dream. I know some of you folks from up north might say "big deal", but there's a reason I live in Charlotte, and it has nothing to do with my affinity for ozone warning days or my desire to be an SUV driving soccer mom.

Fast forward to this past Friday. Most of the trails in Charlotte were looking like they'd be open by Saturday morning. I had planned a ride with someone I haven't had a chance to ride with in a long while (Jerry) in a place I haven't ridden at in a long time (the Uwharrie Mountains) on a "Mustache Only" ride (we have standards to uphold). As I sat there on the couch watching a movie late Friday night I had a scary thought go through my mind. It had been such a long time since I had properly ridden my mountain bike. Was I still going to enjoy the experience? Any chance I had lost that loving feeling? This was uncharted territory since I have never been off the mountain bike for such a long time in the last fifteen years. I guess I would find out one way or another.

The pieces of the puzzle started coming together Saturday morning as I prepared my gear for the ride. A certain kinda routine that I have practiced countless times stirred that familiar feeling somewhere in the familiar feeling lobe of my brain. On the drive over some typical pre-ride music set me up in a great mood to search for that lost loving feeling. Once Jerry and I got to Uwharrie I was glad he was there with me for the ride. When I told him I thought I might have lost "that loving feeling" he took a look around and said "I think I see it over there".

I looked over there, but through the trees I could hardly see the mountains beyond.

I then realized Jerry was being facetious, and I decided "that loving feeling" had never left me for a moment. I was going to be OK.

Jerry dragged me all over the woods on his usual 29 mile route, and I must say it's the best ride I've ever been on in the Uwharrie. For you F.O.K. type folks (Fans of Kerkovianisms) here's your money shot from Jerry's computermathing:

On Sunday I stole another chance to sneak out to a familiar trail to give the Meatplow it's first full speed test. I pushed the bike as hard as I could all over Sherman Branch, and it was fast, fast, fast. I really like this bike, and I can't wait to get the chance to race on it. I did have one "incident" when I rolled over the "Engine Block" rock pile without thinking it over first. A rock was slightly misplaced, and I took a trip over the bars on my way down the backside. I landed pretty hard on my balsa wood rib cage, but luckily there's only some bruising. I'm not feeling any sharp pains indicative of pointy, sharp bone pieces , but sleeping was still a bit rough last night. I guess you'll have that. Sic vita est.

I got to ride my mountain bike. Hooray. I'm very happy now, and today's rain will not seem like the end of the world as I know it.