Let the good times roll

The infection that began in the desert this January is about to peak with a high fever in May. The new 29er is coming together, and it’s going to be the best mountain bike I’ve ever owned.

The wheels were born on my dining-room table yesterday afternoon after a two-hour ride with Leonard, who taught me how to lace them up and showed me how to fine-tune them. One big, sloppy mess later, I had two complete and wonderfully light wheels with tubeless tires mounted in the garage.

Let the sun shine and let the dirt dry. It’s going to be a summer of sweet rides.

Stroke this

Last week I cracked an old filling in one of my molars. The dentist was happy to confirm this on Friday, but he couldn't be bothered to fix it until this morning.

It wasn't the four days of chewing on the left side of my mouth that I minded so much. It was more the pain of having 24-degree air flow over the damaged tooth whenever I rode a bike. While pedaling to work on Monday, I tried to breathe out of the left side of my mouth to divert air from the sensitive right side.

I think that at least once, someone in a passing car must have said, "Oh, honey. Look at that poor man on the bike. I think he's recovering from a stroke."

Yeah. I ride with style.

Spring it

I was born one American spring
When love didn't matter and the birds didn't sing
Rolled from my cradle and picked up my drum
Crawled to the highway and stuck out my thumb

—Robert Hunter

Fat-bikers are living on borrowed time in Alaska. Every week, more stumps appear beside the trail. Every day, more slush forms on the surface. Every ride on my Fatback feels like it might be the last for a while.

Fortunately, the road bike is waiting. And there's a new frame that is sure to make me smile once it's built up and the singletrack dries out. I'm looking forward to summer and dirt-stained legs.

For now, I'm just happy to have a bike that makes me mourn the loss of winter.

Escape

We ride bicycles for a variety of reasons. And for those of us who own several bikes, many of those reasons are somewhat hedonistic and selfish. We ride because it's fun, relaxing, a rush, good exercise, or whatever.

On days like this, assigning a higher purpose to a bike ride can seem a little silly. But I don't care. Tonight's ride helped me keep it together. 

I have a sister, brother-in-law and niece who were near the finish line of the Boston Marathon when the bombs went off. If not for a minor injury that slowed her pace, my sister's time goal would have put her at the finish line at just the wrong time. After a few scary minutes, my family was fortunate enough to confirm that our loved ones were safe.

Others weren't so lucky. I read the news stories all day. I saw the photos. At least one of them will stay with me for a very long time. I wanted to forget it, at least for a few hours.

So tonight, I went into the woods with a close friend, and I rode a bike. I started to feel like I could breathe again. Then I drank some wine before the day's events started to creep back in. 

On a night like this, a ride in the woods is priceless.

Billy K's 2K

Billy K at the end of the line.
(Photos via Arctic Cycles' Facebook page)

In an epic achievement that will likely go unnoticed outside the niche community of Alaska fat-bikers, Anchorage homeboy Billy Koitzsch has completed a 2,000 mile winter bike ride that has never been done before.

First, Billy rode the Iditarod Trail to Nome. That alone would have put him in the tiny, elite group of riders who have completed that trip, but Billy then rode out of town and headed to Fairbanks, where he arrived about 40 days after his trip began.

And just in case you're tempted to think he was on a leisurely winter vacation, it should also be noted that he arrived in Fairbanks 40 pounds lighter than when he left home.

Billy, we are in awe. Eat a big hamburger, drink a big beer and enjoy a nice, warm bed for a couple of days.

Twist my nipples

Bicycling. Because what other sport allows you to walk into a store and spend five minutes talking with another guy about your nipple preferences?

Not that I need to do that.

Sit on your ass for singletrack

How many times have you been asked to get off your ass to help get something done? Well, I'm going to ask you to sit on your ass to get something done.

Earn it.

While serving as MC during Friday night's portion of the Singletrack Advocates Mountain Bike Film & Music Festival, I shamelessly stole some material from the previous night's MC, Lee Bolling, who told the crowd there are three things people need to do if they want more singletrack in Anchorage: Support, Donate and Volunteer.

The support portion begins this Thursday (April 11) at 6 p.m. at the Spenard Rec Center when Lee presents the Kincaid North Trail Project to the Parks & Rec Commission. Kincaid Park belongs to all of us, but the municipality isn't going to approve a trail construction project unless muni officials see a public demand for it.

You don't have to speak. You just have to show up and help fill the room with mountain bikers. And you can sit on your ass. The commission won't even be taking public comments on the project at Thursday's meeting. It's that simple. You just need to show up and watch, so the commission will know that Anchorage residents who ride mountain bikes support this project.

On May 9, the commission will meet again to hear public testimony and vote on the project. It will be important to show up for that one, too. But take baby steps, and start by showing up this Thursday.

When you're riding miles of new singletrack, you'll be glad you did it.

Film & Music Festival

If you don't already have tickets for Singletrack Advocates' Mountain Bike Film & Music Festival, it's way past time to scoot your ass on over to the Tap Root while there are still a few seats left.

You'll get to drink beer, eat food, enjoy bike films and live bands, as well as have a chance to bid on cool swag like Fatback frames and a week at Star Lookout on Maui.

But best of all, your money will be used to build singletrack. Sweet, flowy, fun singletrack.

Be there. Aloha.

Doo the right thing

This is bullshit.

OK, it’s a bag of dog shit. But it’s still bullshit.

I’ve observed this practice for years, but have been thinking about it more since overhearing a conversation about it at a trailhead a week or so ago. What I'm talking about is the habit some dog owners have of bagging their critters' doo, then leaving it beside the trail.

The idea, I’m told, is that they simply don’t want to carry warm turds in their pocket, so they plan to pick up the bags as they pass by on the way back to their cars. In reality, they seem to forget fairly often. Or they change routes and end up not returning for Fido’s shit. 

A couple of winters ago, someone tied the bag to a tree on Microdot, and it hung there for days. The rest of us were left with the choice of seeing the damned thing on every ride, or packing out someone else’s dog shit. Neither option was fair.

So here’s the deal, dog owners. You may feel that this practice is OK, but it’s not. You don't like the feel of warm shit in your pocket? Well boo fuckin' hoo. If your pet’s poo is too unpleasant to carry, you should leave your mutt at home.

I’m not exactly crazy about carrying an empty, sticky Gu packet in my pocket, but I don’t drop my trash on the trail and tarnish your outdoor experience by making you step past my debris until I return to pick it up. That would be lazy, rude and selfish. 

Lazy, rude and selfish people suck.

If your dog packs it in, you pack it out. Please pack it with you along the way.

Intrepid Finger

In a glorious moment for family history, my niece Anne took advantage of her father's inattention last week and racked up her first non-anonymous contribution to the Fabulous Finger Gallery while riding Intrepid at Dead Horse Point State Park outside Moab.

Anne -- whose brother once carried the flip-off passion all the way to China -- made her first appearance here in 2011, but her dad required her to do it discreetly. This time, she unleashed the beast while he was shooting with the camera held under his arm and pointed backward.

Annie seized the moment and became a debutante at the Flip-off Ball. Welcome to the club, Annie. We're proud of you. And thanks for keeping the FFG alive and well.

Spring break = Party time on fat bikes

Aitidal, Rahmah, Nadhrah and Syamim (foreground) take a break
on the trail with Jordy, Heather and Emilie.

One of the things I love about mountain biking is the way it brings people together in both expected and unexpected ways. I met most of my closest friends because of bikes. I’ve met all sorts of riders from various states and countries because of bikes and this silly blog.

That’s what led Nadhrah Kadir to send me an email a few weeks go when she needed help finding fat-bike rentals for her spring break trip to Alaska. Nadhrah and her friends are from Malaysia and attending universities scattered around the United States. For their vacation, they wanted the full Alaska experience, including a bike ride.

Because it wouldn’t be right to let someone come all this way only to ride the Tony Knowles Coastal Trail, I set up an evening ride that included some singletrack.

They might have gotten a little more than they bargained for, but they were all smiling (and uninjured) at the end, which is all that matters to me when taking newbies out for their first ride. Nadhrah told me it was the best experience she had in Alaska, which still makes me smile.

Fat bikes put grins on faces, regardless of where the faces are from. And how else would four young Malaysian women end up spending an evening with a curmudgeonly mountain biker and his friends in Alaska?

One world.

Roll over it with fat tires.

Rover's Rant

"Multi-use" includes more than skiers. (Photo: Alaska Dept. of Fish and Game)

Rover’s Run has a shady reputation that refuses to die. That’s partially because retired biologist Rick Sinnott keeps resuscitating it with cantankerous fits.

Poor Rover’s has taken more than its share of lumps over the years. It got overused, leaving it widened and full of mud holes. Then a bear spent a summer treating it like gang turf, so former mayor Mark Begich shut the trail down. His successor -- making the only one of his decisions I’ve ever agreed with -- reopened it, to the frustration of people like Sinnott.

Now, in a sure sign of spring, Sinnott has dredged up the issue again with an online column lamenting that Rover’s has become “wildly popular” and insisting that “if nothing’s done, more people will be mauled on Rover’s Run.” 

He’s right about a couple of things. The trail wasn’t well-planned, and when it was built more than 30 years ago, mountain biking wasn’t foreseen as one of its uses. He’s also right that it runs through the riparian zone next to Campbell Creek, which attracts salmon and bears.

But he’s not so quick to recognize that most of us have spent years and years riding Rover’s Run without ever seeing a bear on it. Bears are out there, sure, but that’s true of most of our local trails. Rover’s had one bad summer in 2008. The trouble-making bear was killed, and there were no further problems. Another bear — which was involved in the summer’s worst mauling — was never found, and was never heard from again. 

Even the young woman who was mauled has told me she thinks she probably hit the bear with her bike, causing it to react in a natural, defensive manner. Alaska biologists generally leave such bears alone, because there is no reason to believe they will act aggressively toward other people.

In other words, riding Rover’s Run involves some risk, just like every other trail in bear habitat. And yes, it merits a little extra caution because it’s next to a salmon stream. But over the decades, it has been a safe trail, with the exception of a single summer when one grumpy bear was in a pissy mood and didn’t have the option of writing a column for Alaska Dispatch, which is where other old grouches let off steam with you-damn-kids-get-off-my-lawn rants.

I’ve said for years that the city’s reaction to the summer of 2008 has often been comparable to a driver who spends years on Anchorage streets, then has one bad car accident on an icy road and decides to never drive in winter again. Sometimes a bad thing happens, and you just have to get over it.

Now there’s talk of moving part of Rover’s farther away from the creek. Fine, do it, as long as the new trail is some sweet singletrack. But I doubt the bears would mind a short detour for easy walking on the new trail, so don’t expect much of a change.

In the meantime, I’ll keep doing what most of us have always done: Make noise, carry bear spray and ride Rover’s.

Because this is Alaska. There will always be bears.

Spring is phat

Civilians usually don't understand why fat-bikers like winter. Or why we love its final stages, when the trails are firm, the sun is back, and the temperatures are rising.

Want to know why I love late February and early March in Alaska? Look at the last four weekends ...

 Saturday, Feb. 23, Speedway Singletrack.

 

Saturday, March 2, Homer beach ride.

 

Saturday, March 9, all-day ride in 

Nancy Lake State Recreation Area outside Houston.

 Saturday, March 16, Anchorage Coastal Flats.

Fat bikes are made to be ridden, and March is made for fat bikes.

Feeding the beast

I can order a Goodyear Eagle Ultra Grip GW-3 winter tire online for $143. With my driving habits, it would probably last eight to 10 years on a car.

Last week, I paid $150 for a 45NRTH Husker Du tire for my fat bike. If I’m lucky, I’ll ride it for two years before the sidewalls start falling apart, as they just did on my Surly Larry.

I accept that we torture fat tires. They have huge sidewalls, and we run them in extreme temperatures and at low pressures. So, even though they generally live a life free of jagged rocks, they’re big dogs. And big dogs die sooner than little dogs.

But I really hope that this niche market keeps growing, and attracts another player to the fat-tire manufacturing business. We need better tires, and we certainly need lower prices to help us junkies feed our nasty habits. Competition is always good for consumers, and fat-bikers consume a lot of tires. 

 

Addictions aren’t cheap.

Bikes on film

One of the first rules of parenting is that you should always teach your kid to never sign the ransom note. Especially when he's playin' hardball with the Baby Jesus. That's one of the lessons in the bicycle short posted above.

Or maybe the main message is that a little boy should never trust a priest. But I think we all learned that one years ago.

In any case, If You Want Your Mother Back is one of 20 finalists for the VELOBerlin Film Award. and Josefine from Berlin has been asking me to tell you about the competition. After watching a few of the shorts, I decided I should listen to her. The films are fun, and unlike those snooty Academy Awards they do in La-La Land, you don't have to be a Hollywood insider to vote for the winner.

Just pour a drink, click over to the VELOBerlin site, spend your evening watching and rating all the flicks.

Then sober up and go ride your bike.

Rollin’ fat ones in Homer

Fat bikes on Kachemak Bay.

Fat is where it’s at in Homer, especially during the Big Fat Bike Festival. And we can now call it the “annual” BFBF, because the Homer Cycling Club has pulled off two events in a row. Both were a hoot.

BFBF 2013: Pure fat-bike fun.

Beaches, bonfires and fat-bikers is a pretty tough combination to beat. Especially when you throw an impromptu helicopter beer drop into the middle of the ride. (Even though my group missed it because we had already left the fire to roll back toward Homer.)

I also got a taste of what it feels like to win a free bike frame. Unfortunately, I got the taste because I had custody of raffle tickets for the absentee winner during Saturday night’s burger ‘n’ beer dinner. Oh, well. At least it felt like mine for a second.

Thanks to all the Homer riders who worked hard to put together another fun event, and for listening to everyone’s input from last year to make BFBF 2013 as successful as possible. The post-ride bike-wash station at Cycle Logical was a huge help for those of us who had to haul piles of fatties back to Anchorage.

See you on the Spit again next year.

Spot Check Billy

Spotcheck Billy got down on his hands and knees  

He said "Hey mama, hey let me check your oil all right?"  

She said "No, no honey, not tonight.  

Come back Monday, come back Tuesday, and then I might."

- Fat Man in the Bathtub, Little Feat

Billy K's ride.

Billy Koitzsch of Arctic Cycles is taking a little trip. A 2,000-mile winter trip via fat bike, to be exact.

He's checking in frequently via Spot checks, so I'm tracking his progress and cheering him on. Personally, I think he's gonna rock it this year.

After all, he's traveling light after leaving a toe behind last time. Ride strong, Billy.

Patina

I’ve been looking at new bikes recently. It’s time to replace my tired old ride, and all the new stuff is shiny, pretty and clean. It’s awesome. And a little unnatural.

As gorgeous as a new bike can be sitting in the shop, it looks far better when it’s wearing some splattered mud, hard-earned scratches and a mishmash of old and new parts.

Some red dirt from the Southwest is a nice touch, too. Especially if it clings to the bike for a few weeks or months after a bike vacation. The alien-looking soil is a nice reminder of fun times on faraway trails.

My bike didn’t go on my latest trip, so it’s sadly free of red dirt. My new frame will be even cleaner, and I’ll admit I’m looking forward to building it up and then admiring its shiny, pristine awesomeness from across the room for a few days.

But what I really want to do is take it out and get it dirty this summer, and then see it in all its glory, leaning tired and filthy against a tree.

Mountain bikes were meant to be dirty.

Things of beauty

Piles of fat bikes

Parties with live music

Finish-line booze

Visions of the future

 (Scenes from the first-annual Trio in Talkeetna)