Mid Winter’s Day

Here’s the scene. It’s a Saturday in mid January and you want to go
for a woods ride. The expected hight for the day is 39 degrees where
you live at approximately 300 feet of elevation. It has been raining
for 17 days straight and if the skies were clear enough, the hills
would look like they were decimated by a giant flock of seagulls. You
can’t fight the urge anymore and you don’t want the gas in your tank
to get foul, so you collect your most waterproof gear and head for
the nearest riding area.

You arrive at the parking area you are surprised to see a dozen other
riggs. To your dismay they are all unloading quads. You change in
the open while it precipitates a rain/snow mix. You set out on your
loop with a warm bike and dry gloves.

One mile later….. You stop to remove your foggy dripping lenses.
You warm your wet hands near an exhaust header crusted with the color
of dark rust and steaming with the scent of fresh baked mud pie.
You’ve done well just to keep the bike upright with all the diagonally
downed limbs due to the wind storm that ripped limbs loose the week
earlier. You press on.

Now you’ve aclamated to the conditions. You are used to the way the back
of your bike would rather go left or right rather than push you
forward while accelerating. You’ve selected the wrong line through
deep puddles on more than one occasion. At least the quart of water
in each boot has warmed to match your body temperature. A few times
you have flashed back to when this route was dry, to a time when
applying the brakes would actually cause your bike to slow. Those
thoughts quickly dissappear as you descend down a hill like the Plinko
disk released from the hand of a Price is Right contestant.

You’ve gone nowhere slowly. On the north sides of high hills you
encounter picturesque scenes of drooping evergreen and white topping.
This bleached out beauty is overshadowed by the reality of the terrain
it blankets. Rocks, ruts, roots and more diagonal branches push your
front end around like a bully held back 4 grades at recess. At this
point you envy the quads you saw earlier. Four tires in contact with
the ground would have kept you from leaving that streaking snow angel
you created on the side of a logging road back when you got a cocky
and thought riding on snow wasn’t so difficult.

On your way back to the parking area you have a five mile stretch of
gravel to conquer. You are in a hurry to get out of the weather but
speed is your enemy. The faster you travel the more wind flows
through the new holes you have torn in you best “waterproof” gear.
You crouch over your tank chin near the bar pad. One lifeless claw
clutches the throttle, the other changes position from your crotch to
the rear of your seat savoring the windless locations. Your focus is
directed at dodging the pot holes and not thinking about your face
from the nose down (you can’t feel it anyway).

Back at your rig you get a sample of what life will be like when you
are old. Stiff and weak you load up and peel off your gear. As your
key turns the heat in your cab is set to the maximum and the cd begins
playing where it left off. Once your core temperature returns to
normal you know that even a day like that is better than fighting the crowds at the Home Depot trying to scratch one “to do” off the infinate “honey do” list.

1/09/08

Ben Baucum