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El Cap and I just got back from our yearly Deschutes River Trail ride, and I thought I would pass on a few learned nuggets of knowledge from today’s ride:

• Don’t wait all summer to ride – yes, I admit it, I hadn’t touched my bike all summer. Between missing Reach the Beach (it was one of the little sprockets’ birthdays), volunteering as a counselor at my eldest sprocket’s middle school camp, doing the California family vacation, and not balancing my time well, I just flitted away most of my summer not riding.
• 4,500 feet of elevation gain makes a difference – okay, I do have a fine attention to the obvious, but having your first ride of the summer be at 4,500 when you’re used to sea level does make a difference
• Make sure all riders double check all equipment before leaving home – if you don’t believe me, see my next note
• SPD pedals were not made for standard tennis shoes – El Cap can tell you all about what it was like riding 14 miles through single track littered with roots and rocks, but I must at least point out that those little clipless pedals don’t leave much room for the shoe
• Momentum is your friend, but Mosquitos are Not – those ruthless mosquitos are waiting at every turn for you to stop and take a drink of water. When they begin a full assault (and they did today), it’s time to move on
• Be sure to purposefully ride right over rocks (if they aren’t too big) - the best way to be ready for tricky rocky sections is to be comfortable riding right over the rocks, then you won’t be spooked by them. I make a point of this every year, but today, when we had to limit our ride (see the point on spd pedals or the one before it), I deliberately worked rocks into to my routine as early as possible. I had to break out of my tentative shell early to enjoy the ride before it was over.
• We have too much noise in our lives – this may seem like a bit of a non-sequitur, but it rang true. In my post-ride euphoria, I noticed how quiet it was in the house in Sunriver where we’re staying. There was no tv on, no music, just the slight hum of the air conditioner. I began to relax and stop for a moment. Then, it came to me: there’s this thing that our minds are capable of doing called thinking. I’m not talking about making decisions on what to eat, what to say to someone, what to buy, what show to watch. No, it’s something completely different and even enjoyable. When you sit down without any other distractions, you can actually contemplate, reflect, ponder, ruminate, think fondly of what’s important in your life.

So, my advice to you is to carve out a chunk of time in your busy schedule and get on your bike. Go on a cycling adventure, even if it’s only 14 miles, but don’t forget your cycling shoes. Attack the obstacles in your way, realize that they are much smaller than they seem, and then relax, turn off the tv and radio and sit down on a comfortable chair and let your mind go wild…

Then, post about it.

So teaching web design has many perks (I get to learn new technology, I get to share what I learn, I am never bored with a room full of pure teenage energy), but I hadn’t thought about how it might help by mountainbiking.

I just found out that there’s a network of mountainbiking trails just outside of town, called Horning’s Hideout. I’ve asked various friends and cycling shops of places to go, and the closest anyone would mention was Scappoose, Stub Stewart State Park, or Forest Park.

Forest Park is the closest (or so I thought), but it’s either almost flat or a fireroad that drops straight down, which forces you to either start by divebombing and then of course, having to turn around and climb a steep pitch (not my kind of fun), or begin with a steep pitch. If there was single track that had something in between the two extremes, that would be different.

But now, through a student’s blog entry, I have discovered that there’s a network of trails in my backyard, so to speak. Horning’s Hideout Just north of highway 26 as you’re leaving Hillsboro (in North Plains).

I’ll have to check it out, and I’ll post on how it was.

Warning: the following blog is not for the squeamish!

In light of the many tragedies involving cyclists getting killed or severely injured by a bus or car in the Portland metro area, I’ve lately pondered whether I should continue riding on the road. Every time I go out, I wonder if I am taking an unnecessary risk. Should I just quit riding on the road and stick to single track? Is mountain biking more or less dangerous than road riding? Is it better to wrap yourself around a tree or a light post? Is it time to toss my slicks and keep only my knobbies for riding?

When I started riding, Breaking Away had come out on video, and I rode with the Barber of Seville running through my head dreaming of racing through the cobblestone streets of some small French village in the twelfth stage of the Tour De France. This was long before mountain bikes were sold, so when the mountain bikes first came out, I thought who in their right mind would want to ride a bike down a mountain. It seemed obvious to me that mountain biking must be more dangerous. After all, on a road bike, I’m only riding on smooth asphalt for the most part with a few potholes or gravel I need to avoid. Mountain biking, however, conjured up visions of slamming into cacti (I lived in Arizona) or breaking a collarbone as I smashed down onto a rock after doing an endo over a cliff.

To be honest, everyone I know who rides a mountain bike on any even moderately technical ride has crashed and bled or pulled a muscle or something unpleasant. As El Cap once told me, it isn’t mountain biking until you’ve crashed and/or you’ve had to walk your bike because the terrain is too tough (El Cap, you can correct me on this). I admit it; I don’t like to crash, and it’s my goal not to crash whenever I ride, but I know it goes with the mountain biking territory; I know that sooner or later I will crash.

The difference between mountain biking and road riding is that I’m 100% sure that I will crash in the next year or so while mountain biking. I’m not so certain about road riding. I don’t want to brag, but I don’t think I’ll crash while road riding, at least not due to the terrain or my riding ability. If I crash while road riding, I think that the odds would suggest it would be due to an automobile. I can have a perfect riding record, but I have no control over the drivers out on the road. It’s likely I may crash into a rock or tree, but It’s not likely I’ll have a rock or tree crashing into me.

Warning: yucky part coming up. It’s not too late to turn around, hit the back button, log off, whatever you need to do to avoid getting completely grossed out. . . .  Okay, I warned you. I can’t be held responsible for you losing your appetite.

I voiced these ponderings last Sunday at the first rest stop of the Vancouver Discovery Walk Ride (the walk that’s also a ride!) to anyone within earshot, and they mulled it over and seemed a little unconvinced, so I asked if anyone has ever heard of a mountain biker dying from an off-road accident. A rider, who I believe claimed to be a nurse, told us the story about a mountain biker who crashed and severed the top of his lip off. They had to graft half of his lower lip onto the top. She said the paramedics tried desperately to find the severed lip, but alas, could not find it. Their best guess was that he inadvertantly swallowed it.

So, other than the possibility of becoming a quasi-cannibal, mountain biking seems safer than road riding. You’re more likely to be injured while hitting the single track, but the much less common crash during a road ride may have more dire consequences.

What do you think?

So yesterday brought a nice surprise in the morning: snow! Despite all the newscasters did to downplay the potential for snow, we got 3 inches. Once the kids were all bundled up and having snowball fights, I decided to finally move the Lumbering Rhino to the shed in back — the LR was left out by the gate after Mrs. Samwise finally convinced me to move it off of the front porch (that’s another story).

Anyway, on a snowy day, you can’t just walk a bike to the back shed; you must ride it, and ride it I did. It was so much fun, but there was no excitement or danger when I could simply pull my feet off the pedals in case of a slip. No, I had to clip into Little Joe if I was to have any real fun.

Before I go any further, I must admit that I’m a “Zonie” from Phoenix, and the only snowy day we had in Phoenix was when my sister graduated from college (as we always predicted). Being a relative newbie to snow, I had no idea as to how well MTBs are suited for snow play, and I just had to find out.

So I ditched my snow pants (didn’t want to get the pants caught in the chain) and oversized shell that tends to wrap itself under the back of my saddle, making a quick escape much less possible. I put the helmet on but kept my snow gloves on.

It was a blast. I did a few bunny hops until the Mrs. Samwise pointed out that I wasn’t jumping very high. Little Joe handled the virgin snow very well. I do admit when going around a corner, I sometimes unclipped my SPDs just in case, but I never did lose it.

My assessment:

Let me first make the disclaimer that I am no X-games-type, death defying daredevil. I have the sprockets to think of: I don’t want to set a bad example, and I want to live to ride with the sprockets on their first century. I’ll also admit that I didn’t stay on Little Joe for more than 20 minutes. I just rode around to get a feel.

With that being said, it seems that riding LJ on fresh snow is quite easy. I had a tougher time in the middle of our cul-de-sac where the kids had already been tromping around and sledding around. I don’t think it would do well in ice, but I do think that the added friction of an uneven surface, like a rocky or earthen ground, beneath the surface is better than straight pavement under the snow. I also learned that bunny hops are even less impressive in 3 or more inches of snow, since the first 2-3 inches are completely hidden from spectators. Finally, I came to the conclusion that I will only commute to school if the outside temperature is above freezing or the streets are completely dry.

On a totally unrelated note, we watched interesting footage of multiple car crashes on a steep street in downtown Portland. It was like watching a smash-em-up derby. And loud, those smashes were really echoing off the buildings. Can I just say that it’s not worth it to attempt a steep, snow-covered street before everything is sanded?

El Cap, Triguy, and I found a great, local spot to get some off-road mileage and introduce new mountainbikers to the joys of off-road riding. It’s the Leif Erikson Dr. at Forest Park. It’s not technical at all, but it’s beautiful, and you can ride up to about 24 miles if you do the whole route and back.

Triguy was only able to join us for about 20 minutes of riding before he had to turn back, but El Cap and I rode for an hour and logged 12 miles. Our top speed was 21.3 mph (we both got the exact same read on our computers). (more…)

And now we come to our last installment from Lessons from the Deschutes River Trail. These are all the tips I received and put into practice. It’s sort of a primer for new mountainbikers.

Shift your body back on the downhills

I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly care to do an endo. As a kid, I did an endo on two separate occasions: one was on my way to school when I discovered it’s not a good idea to slam on your front brake, and the other time was my first and only road racing crash. I decided on both of those occasions that I would try to avoid flipping over my handlebars. The best way to do that while mountain biking, other than riding headlong into a boulder, is to shift your weight back. On mild downhills, you might want to simply extend your arms and curve your back a little. On the more hairy downhills, it’s best to get off your saddle and stick your butt behind your seat. On some occasions I have basically moved my stomach directly over my saddle, so I wouldn’t get tossed. This combined with not slamming on your front brakes should be all you need. I hope this helps on your next ride.

Before I sign off, I’d like to make the comment that these suggestions work best after you have begun to get a little tired, but you haven’t lost your edge. On my last ride, I found that the most rewarding part of the ride was after I got tired enough to stop worrying about everything. I found that I relaxed more and stopped staring at rocks and roots as objects to be avoided and started having fun jumping and bumping around the trail.

Full suspension includes your legs

Don’t forget that the most sophisticated shock system is your legs. You have full control over the range and tension of your natural shocks. When navigating rocky or bumpy paths (this is mainly on descents), get off of your saddle, even up your pedals so they are of equal height, and use your knees to absorb the bumps. What’s great is the shocks can be as loose or as stiff as you want them.

I know I mentioned your legs, but I should add that your arms also help as shock absorbers. In fact, the biggest thing I noticed when I exchanged the Lumbering Rhino for Little Joe was that my arms weren’t as sore. It’s because the shocks in my forks absorbed much of the vibrations. That just goes to show that your arms are part of that natural shock system as well.

Stay tuned for the sixth and final lesson from the Deschutes River Trail . . .

If finding a line is too complicated,
just go over the objects.

The reality is that most objects don’t pose much of a threat. In your attempts to find a line around objects, you might be tempted to think that all objects are bad and must be avoided. I know I did that. However, after about 8 miles or so into the ride, I finally realized two things. One, I had shocks, and two, most objects are not so big that they will hit your chainring. That’s the real danger: a large object that can knock a few teeth out of your chainring or toss you off the bike. If the object can’t get to your chainring, then it almost has no danger of knocking you off the bike.

Once I realized that, I began seeing all of the objects that I could just ride over, and I stopped worrying about the little things. Once I stopped worrying about the little things, I found I could better focus on the big things, like not riding off of a cliff or sizing up that log that lay across the path or not hitting that hiker or cyclist coming my way.

The bottom line is this: if you don’t want to hit that three-inch rock, maybe you should just stick to the road.

Stay tuned for part 5…

Part Three: Find a line and stick to it

I first learned to find a line when learning to ski moguls. The concept is basically to draw an imaginary line around the various obstacles in your path. You generally keep to a straight line with back and forth curves around the objects.

What you do is take a quick scan of the trail in front, identify any large objects that you’d rather not run into and decide if you’re going to the left or right of it. You don’t have much time, so you do the best you can, but you don’t waste time on wondering if you made the right choice.

That’s the key: sticking to your decision. If you second guess yourself, you either stare at the object and run into it (see previous advice), or you stop paying attention to the next obstacle and run the risk of running into that possibly more dangerous object.

Stay tuned to lesson four…

Part Two: Stop Staring at that Obstacle

This is part two of the six-part series titled, Lessons from the Deschutes River Trail

If you’re trying to avoid a rock (or tree or log), stop staring at it. If you worry too much about the obstacle, the natural tendency is to stare at it until, low and behold, you ride right into it. One of El Cap’s little sprockets learned that lesson the hard way when at Tahoe. I find that this is more likely to happen if you’re nervous while riding, so the main advice is relax.

Another thing you can do if you find yourself staring at the boulder (it’s probably more like a rock), look ahead and ignore it. You already saw it; you know it’s there, so let your subconscious navigator move you the right way, and work on finding your line. How do you find your line? you ask.

Well, we’ll save that for part three of Lessons from the Deschutes River Trail.