Gettin' there

We're finally on the cusp of spring, folks. It ain't really here yet, but we can see it on the horizon. The snow from our last storm is getting packed, and the warm daytime temperatures are combining with cold night air to put just enough ice on the trails that if a clown like me doesn't pay attention, there might be a smackdown.

This is also the time of year when every fat-bike ride takes on a little extra meaning, because it's hard to know how many we have left. For now, I'd say we're good until at least the end of this month. Then it's up to Mother Nature.

Speaking of fat-bike rides, good luck to The Bike Monkee, Jules, Janice, and anyone else heading north for this weekend's White Mountains 100. Safe travels, everybody.

In memory of the fallen

Found on Speedway singletrack, Sunday afternoon

The Hillside has something in common with the moon this week: impact craters. The only difference is that the local craters aren't round. They're shaped like bikes. And bodies.

It seems to be taking a little longer than usual to get last week's powder packed down into fast singletrack, but the snow beside many trails bears the proof that fat-bikers are trying.

It can be frustrating to ride trails after a snowstorm. But just remember, the landings are a lot softer than they'll be three months from now.

March on

This should be declared the official Month of Delusion in Alaska, because March is the time of year when otherwise rational people start believing in meteorological fantasies.

As snow flurries fell from the gray sky on Monday, and powder snakes blew across streets, at least three people I know were staring out windows and feeling exasperated. They’ve had enough of winter.

Then we woke up this morning to blowing snow, drifts in our driveways and a “winter weather advisory.” And the only surprising thing about it was that so many people were surprised.

A big snowstorm in March is as normal as darkness in December. Just because some people want spring to come doesn’t mean winter isn’t alive and kicking. After May 1, you can call a snowstorm a surprise—though even then it might be a stretch—but in March, a person has to just accept the fact that winter won't be over for several more weeks.

I used to fall victim to cabin fever this time of year. I, too, would go temporarily insane and start to believe that spring might come early. Now, I look forward to March all year. The average temperatures are a bit milder, the sun is out longer each day, the trails are usually in the best shape of the season, and the bears and mosquitoes haven’t shown up yet.

The cure for cabin fever is simple: Get your ass outside. Especially if you own a fat bike, because if don't enjoy the riding in March, you might as well be a roadie.

Good vs. great

It has long been a standard part of mountain biking to pedal up to the trailhead at the end of the day and say to your partners, "Thanks. That was a great ride."

And we always mean it, but it's really a throwaway line because, more often than not, we don't give a moment's thought to the question of where a good ride ends and a great one begins. The line between good and great can be vague, and the deciding factors are varied.

One good sign is when you expected to ride trails for a couple of hours, but ended up riding for four—not because you got lost or suffered a mechanical, but because it was a beautiful day, you had the right partners and nobody was under pressure to be anywhere else. Another good sign is when the ride ends and you're spent, but happy. Happy because you just had a blast, but also because you're glad to be done.

It's also a good sign when there's not a crumb of food left anywhere on your bike, and when you start driving home and try to get a drink, you find that you can't pull another drop from the tube because your last sip on the trail drained the final fraction of an ounce from your Camelbak.

Great rides rock. Long live great rides.

Built to last

A guy I know—who isn’t a rider—forwarded this video to me and a couple of other mountain-biker friends, and asked, “What are these guys thinking?”

I couldn’t come up with much of a reply. Because while there’s a shit-ton of bold riding on display, there isn’t much evidence that these guys are doing a lot of thinking. Not the long-term kind, anyway.

We’ve all played the game of comparing wounds and scars over a couple of post-ride beers, but most of us strive to limit injuries to the category of cuts, scrapes and bruises. (OK, maybe a concussion here and there, but I’m trying to quit.) When guys in their teens and 20s rack up long lists of the bones they’ve broken, they’re really making an inventory of the orthopedic nightmare that awaits them later in life.

Ever meet a 50-year-old who fractured multiple bones and wrecked both knees in his 20s? It ain’t pretty. If you don't believe me, do a few Google searches and read about all the retired NFL players who are permanently disabled. A lot of freeriders are going to end up in the same boat, and by middle age, their mountain-biking days will be behind him. And that’s a shame because, if you do it right, bicycling is a sport most people can do well into old age.

Like anyone else, I get a kick out of watching videos of young dudes hucking off cliffs and landing huge jumps, but I cringe a bit when I think about little kids seeing such footage and thinking they’d like to be like those guys when they grow up.

I got my inspiration 18 years ago, on the only day I ever rode up a ski lift just to ride my bike back down. “Lift-served” riding was a new idea, and far from polished, so when my buddy and I reached the top of Sandia Peak, we had to wait a few minutes for our bikes to join us.

As we waited, a guy who must have been 68 or 70 years old jump off the chairlift wearing a T-shirt and denim shorts. When his bike arrived, he got a huge, shit-eatin’ grin on his face, then spryly jumped on and steered it down the hill.

When I grow up, I want to be that guy.

Wet 'n' wild

Contributions to the venerable Bicycles & Icicles Finger Gallery have come from many places, but this one boldly goes where no one has gone before: under water. Gina spends a lot of time submerged because she’s one of those odd people who thinks bikes are fun to use in triathlons. When she sent this shot, she asked if it counted even though she’s not wearing cycling clothes.

Of course it counts. It counts because A) I’m a liberal guy who doesn’t discriminate (well, not openly anyway) against people who swim and run, and B) she’s flipping me the bird under water, which just doesn’t happen every day.

This isn’t Gina’s first appearance in the Famous Finger Gallery. She was part of the international incident last September when a gaggle of Brits, Welsh, Italians and Frenchmen were hijacked into flashing their phalanges.

I’m proud that Gina was able to take it to a new depth. Because, after all, that’s really what this blog is all about.

Man down

Last week I wrote that, come hell or high water, I'd be back on singletrack Wednesday night. Then hell and high water both arrived at the same time. I've been ridin' the recliner with a fistful of decongestants and box of Kleenex ever since.

The only good thing about being down with a head cold is that it gives a person time to kill. And there's no better way to kill time than to make a slideshow of pics from rides over the past year.

Enjoy.

Survival mode

I’ve got a bunch of crap going on this week and, unfortunately, very little of it involves riding. So far. With all this warm weather, commuting conditions suck, and I’ve needed my car every day this week anyway. Hell, I even broke down last night and put the road bike on the trainer and spent about an hour spinning on the hamster wheel as a DVD played on the big-ass TV.

Which reminds me, in case I haven’t mentioned it lately: Riding a trainer sucks.

Wednesday night, come hell or high water, the fat bike’s back on singletrack. In the meantime, I’m trying to find time to figure out the sweet new camera that should boost the quality of photos on the ol’ blog, and I’m making plans for a very cool trip with Jules and the Monkee.

This week has sucked ass so far, but there’s good stuff ahead.

Speaking of good stuff, the week hasn't sucked for Jules, who scored a free Camelbak at Saturday night's Frigid Bits event, and then won 10 free stickers for proposing "No Waxing Required" for the new Bicycles & Icicles frame stickers.

The readers have spoken, and the stickers have been ordered.

Fingers around the fire

You can always count on a Frigid Bits event to be great when the burn barrel is involved. After a fun two-hour ride with a bunch of tight singletrack, the beer and dead animals tasted damn good. After the crowd thinned a bit, the holdouts even sang Happy Birthday for me, and posed for a one-finger salute. I love winter mountain bikers.

The night also marked the inaugural ride of Scarlett—my friend Amber's new Fatback with a custom paint job. A skull on the head tube, lightning bolts, a flame-covered fork, and a purple-to-pink fade with her name on the chainstays. It's definitely one of a kind, and will keep a shit-eatin' grin on her face for a good long while. Speedway did its usual nice job on the build. (Click on the detail shot for a closer look.)

And speaking of shops, thanks to Speedway, Paramount, Chain Reaction and The Bicycle Shop for generously donating some nice swag for last night's ride, which was a fundraiser for Singletrack Advocates.

Don't forget to click on the right side of this page to vote for your favorite slogan to be placed on the frame stickers I plan to order this week. But don't give Jules any sympathy votes after her earlier comment that she never wins anything, because she won the finest piece of swag last night: a nice new Camelbak donated by Greg over at Speedway.

The polls are open

The Great Sticker Contest of 2010 has come down to two finalists, and I'm genuinely torn. I like the attitude behind my original concept of "One Less Skier," but I enjoy the wit and subtlety of "No Waxing Required," which was the brainchild of my friend Jules. It certainly works on more than one level.

Since announcing my little contest, I've heard from enough of you to learn that I'm certainly not alone in facing hostility from bike-hating Nordic skiers. So, based on your experiences, tell me what you think, folks. There's a poll on the right side of this post so that you can vote for your favorite sticker.

Regardless of which is chosen, Jules wins the amazing and breathtakingly generous prize of 10 stickers. (After all, I can't exactly give the prize to myself.) I expect to see at least one of them gracing the frame of her new Pugsley very soon.

The poll closes at 6:30 p.m. on Monday (Alaska time.)

After that, to paraphrase Neil Young, live music is better, and bumper stickers will be issued.

Contest time

It's time for the first Bicycles & Icicles reader contest, complete with a prize. For a year or two now, I've been meaning to print up some stickers such as those fine samples from Handlebar Sandwich.

Given my recent fed-upedness with the attitude fat bikers get from the tight-ass Nordic ski crowd, I'm looking for something with a little attitude. Something that carries a pro-fat-bike message, or at least a pro-bike message.

This is where you come in, dear reader. The leading candidate for my inspired stickery is shown above, but you may have a better idea. If so, click the e-mail link to send suggestions my way, or simply leave a comment with your idea. If your idea is chosen for the sticker order, you'll get 10 free stickers. (So make sure you don't cast your brilliance to an "anonymous" comment. I'll need a way to contact you.)

Let the brainstorms begin.

Here to stay

I decided to lay low last week and fight off a cold that was lurking around the edges and threatening to take me down. Fortunately, the strategy paid off and I never really got sick—just spent a few quiet evenings falling more out of shape.

So it felt good to hit the trails Saturday morning and be reminded that some things never change. I still get sluggish after a week of reduced activity. Fat biking is still fun anyway. I still frequently forget what I’m doing and say “hi” to Nordic skiers. And they—most of them, anyway—still scowl like selfish pricks whenever they see a bike.

Allow me to pause for a moment and mention at this juncture that I don’t want to see a single comment from anyone attempting to tell me that “most mountain bikers are skiers, too,” or that I should be nice and not write or say divisive things because we should all just get along and share the trails. I know all that shit. That’s why I’m annoyed.

I’ve been trying to play nice with XC skiers in this town for years. I stay off their “ski-only” trails. I’ve attended meetings between user groups. I’ve been vocal—even obnoxious—in encouraging other riders to practice good trail etiquette on a year-round basis. I’ve tried to remain friendly when encountering skiers, only to have 90 percent of them glare at me as if I were some sort of criminal. Countless other winter riders have spent years making the same efforts as me. And what has it gotten us?

Kicked in the nuts, that’s what it’s gotten us. Over and over and over.

Arrogant skiers still treat us like second-class citizens. They still accost us on the trails and question our right to be there. They still fight our efforts to gain access to public lands. And personally, I think they still believe that if they resist long enough, we’ll give up and go away.

Fuck ’em. I’m running out of patience with their attitude. I’m tired of playing nice and getting kicked in the nuts. And if they think winter mountain bikers are going away, they’re out of their narrow little minds.

I’ll continue to be a responsible trail user, but I own the public trails as much as anyone else. I’m gonna ride my bike. I’m not going to apologize. I’m not going to beg for acceptance. And I don’t care who doesn’t like it.

All You Haters

This video, found over at Girl on Bike,
is a great parody of hipster/messenger culture.

All You Haters (Suck My Balls)

Missing

Found on the Web

If you haven't seen this bike ...
uh, well, keep not looking.

Bird on Eagle River

It's been awhile since I last posted a Phabulous Phinger Photo on the blog, so it's good to see someone think fast and keep the movement alive.

Because of a misunderstanding on Friday's meeting spot, Carl and I missed each other at the start of our ride on Eagle River. When I finally got to the parking lot he had intended, he had an hour head start, and all I could do was follow his Endomorph tracks upriver while hoping he'd stop often to shoot photos.

When I finally rounded a bend in the river and saw him rolling toward me, he didn't miss a beat as I pulled out my camera, and voila, we have our first new addition to the Finger Gallery in months.

Strong work, Carl.

Cold juice

When is someone going to develop a battery that won't turn to crap every time it gets good and cold? I mean, seriously, with all the technological improvements we've seen in winter riding over the past couple of years, I think batteries are one of the main pieces of gear that still need improvement.

Tonight's ride was in temps of about 4F ... from what I could tell. I had to hold my digital thermometer at just the right angle to get a reading off the LED screen as the battery faded.

The NightRider light on my handlebar did it's job for more than two hours, and was still working when we got back to the cars, but the power indicator turned red less than an hour into the ride, even though the battery was fully charged for a three-hour burn.

But my camera presents one of my main frustrations in temps below 20F. Despite numerous attempts, I got a grand total of one image from the trail tonight—the one you see on this post—and I didn't know if I had it until I got home. As soon as I took the shot, the battery wheezed under the load of saving the digital image and the screen on my camera went dark except for the "change battery pack" message.

After wrapping my hand around the camera (while still inside my pocket) for a couple of minutes, I managed to get a couple of shots in the parking lot at the end of the ride, but just barely.

Battery companies of the world, get your shit together and give us better products. Much of the world is cold this time of year, and not everyone sits inside catatonically staring at new episodes of "Lost" every night.

Is it really too much to ask for a battery that can function for a couple of hours at 0F?

Burnin' it

What happens when you combine a few riders, a small fortune in fat bikes, open flames, flammable liquids a small pile of cheap beer? That's right, a good time around the ol' Frigid Bits Burn Barrel.

This shit never gets old.

My fellow Americans ...

I felt a twinge of guilt when I got home Wednesday night. All the online news sites were full of coverage of the State of the Union address. Millions of “serious” adults had, no doubt, devoted the evening to watching Obama’s speech.

I, on the other hand, did what I usually do. I went and played in the woods on a fat bike. Didn’t give the big speech a second thought, really.

It’s not that I don’t care. I just don’t need the dog-and-pony show of a constitutionally mandated annual address to know the state of the union—it’s fucked up. And I didn’t need to hear the Big Man say anything to feel reassured that we’re in better hands than we were for eight years. I still think he’ll steer us onto the right course. But I have my own course to steer.

The stuffed suits in D.C. can have the State of the Union address. I can read about it in the New York Times.

I felt it was my duty to confirm the State of Blue Dot. And I slept better knowing what a fine state that is.

akspokes.com

Notice to locals who are wondering what happened to the akspokes forum this week: There was a problem with excessive bandwidth usage, so the host site shut down the forum. The problem is being addressed, and the forum should be back online by this weekend.

Stalled

Some weeks, it’s barely worth pumping up the tires.

A scenic ride on the coastal flats didn’t last long in Sunday’s soft powder conditions, so we spent the second half of the ride drinking beer. At least I got this pretty picture.

And tonight’s eagerly anticipated trail ride lasted only long enough for my freehub to die, so I’m having a glass (or two) of wine.

I don’t think this training program is sustainable.