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Show THE ZEPHYR APRIL 1993 PAGE 2 F page two Jim Stiles was walking out of Dave's Comer Market with a double capucdno on the short side (no jokes, please) when I felt a rush of wind and heard the whine of gears and chains cranking furiously. For everyone who lives here and for almost anyone who has visited, you know that Dave's Comer Market sits at the comer of Mill Creek Dr. and 400 East Mountain bikers (where descending from the nearby Slickrock Bike Trail often choose to avoid the the like It's lot. Dave's to cut traffic across and and have laws) driving obey actually stop they'd erf a I 35 about miles at and add. an hour might hypotenuse right triangle, My lightning reflexes pulled me out of harm's way as the Neon Blur pumped by, and most of my coffee stayed in the cup. I lifted my glass in the air and said, "Have a nice day," or something along those lines, but he was well out of ear shot by then. About an hour later, the high Wingate sandstone walls around Moab reverberated with the wail of sirens. It was, as usual, the Grand County Ambulance Crew, on its way to the Sand Rats to retrieve another fallen biker. "I just hope it wasn't that fellow who almost ran over me this morning... Although we didn't have a chance to talk, he seemed like one hell erf a nice guy," I said. Parts of the preceding paragraph contain blatant lies. I Already, I have sensed around town, a certain hostility swelling in the hearts and minds of comments at the Post Office, snide remarks at City Market, and Moab's citizens. pickup trucks once again swerving into the bike lanes are all indications of what one biker described to me as "an ungrateful community." "Ungrateful?" I said. "You must be joking. Why I literally shed tears of joy each and every Paisley-da- d Spring when I see that first flash (or rash) of Lycra," I explained to my Royal-blu- e Under-the-brea- th friend. "This is no time for sarcasm," he snarled (These guys are so damned serious). "Tell me," he asked, "Have you ever actually done it?" "Done what?" I said. "Mountain biked...Have you ever actually climbed cm a mountain bike and experienced the sport for yourself? "You mean put on the outfit and the helmet and. ..the whole deal?" I asked incredulously. "There's no way." "You don't have to wear all this gear if you don't want to, but have you ever hiked a trail?" "WelL.no," I conceded. "THERE! You admit it.1" he proclaimed triumphantly. "1 low can you critidze something you have never experienced? I don't want to. see one more negative comment about bikers until you've experienced mountain biking on a personal level" "But it's Spring...I've got to write my April EditorialLWhat will I write about?" I cried, as he tugged at the strap on his helmet "The choice is yours. I'll be watching," he grinned and peddled away. As he glided up Center mention erf our St I wondered what my options were. Springtime without at least a like like breakfast without coffee, Jimmie Walker peanut butter without jdly, like Lycra friends is without Gene Nodine. I knew drastic action was needed. Was Imperative. light-heart- ed Not many people know this, but I actually own a mountain bike. Several years ago, one of friends persuaded me to buy her old Schwinn. She suggested that I would my organically-grow- n "I know no safe depository of the ultimate powers of the society but the people themselves; if we think them not enlightened enough to exercise their control with a wholesome discretion, the remedy is not to take it from them, but to inform their discretion. Thomas Jefferson THE CANYON COUNTRY ZEPHYR P.O. Box 327 Moab, Utah 84532 (801) 259-77- 73 Jim Stiles, publisher learn to love my new bike as much as she did. I was skeptical but she only wanted a hundred bucks for it. So what the heU, I figured. I rode it about six times, if I recall correctly, and only around town..mever a true mountain bike experience. I'm not real mechanical and I had problems shifting gears from the outset. I kept trucks and startled looks from my friends. Once, the getting dirty looks from cowboys in pickup I was acquainted almost resulted in an accident. I with whom a of dumbstruck stare passerby LOCAL..LYCRA-FREbut I still felt uncomfortable. said: strapped a sign on the back that served clothes me well as an Finally the bike was relegated to the pordi where it has line and an interesting conversation piece. Until today. This morning, with the sun just breaking behind the La Sals, I rolled the bike off the porch and into the driveway. I stripped my magnetic Zephyr signs from the doors of my car (to assure anonymity), and loaded the Schwinn into the back. As I rolled out the drive, I wondered if I was embarking on an adventure that would ultimately and forever alter the way I view my life and the world around me. Had I been operating from the darkened halls of ignorance all these years? Was I about to see tire Light? There is an old jeep road just outside the Arches park boundary that is seldom used and offers a variety of mountain bike opportunities. This is the place; I decided, to test my wings. Before departing, however, I consulted my copy of "Above & Beyond Slickrock," by the Dean of Fat Tire Biking, Todd Campell (not to be confused with the Dean of Moab's Press Corps, Ken Davey). I took note of his helpful hints on bicycle care and maintenance and paid particular attention to "Techniques." This, I figured, would be critical to a good day's ride. With this knowledge and the thrill of anticipation pounding in my chest, I crept out of town, bathed in the warm glow of a brilliant Spring morning. I turned off the highway at the appointed spot and headed east into the sun until I reached my destination. Parking the car in foe shade of an ancient juniper tree, I unloaded the bike, strapped on my fanny pack, and climbed on. It was all downhill after that E, Actually, it was all uphill My plan was to follow this jeep trail from a wash bottom crossing through an area of broken rock and ledges, to a large expanse of slickrock...peddle to foe top, and then coast bade down. I peddled across the wash, encountered the ledges on the other side, and the passage that pertained to immediately fell off the bike. I pulled out Todd's book and this particular mishap. According to foe text, it says, "To avoid small obstades, actually aim at them when approaching and you'll be better able to avoid them when foe time comes to pass." 1 thought that was what I did, although it seemed sort of masochistic to me...I aimed my bike right at the ledges, and ended up here on the ground, sucking sand. I read on...'Balance, tenacity, e and proper gear selection all play roles in climbing" I didn't even know what it meant, but 30 seconds after beginning this little " n adventure, I had already been "dabbed. I had lost my dabnesa. I was not a anymore. I Actually, was in pain. But Todd said that tenacity was critical to a successful ride, so I got back on and pedaled east. Things went swimmingly for a while. The road was fairly smooth and only climbed modestly. I played with foe gears, even doing a little "foumbtip shifting" as described in the book. I can say that I rode my bike with the confidence and skill of a professional for the better part of 200 yards before another obstacle confronted me. I found myself in a dry wash and I remembered Todd's advice on sand: "If you begin to auger in, downshift before there is too much stress on foe chain." 1 augered in. I crawled out from under the wheeled monster and thought: to heU with stress on foe chain...what about me? I hadn't been this stressed since we lost the subscriber list in the computer three years ago. It had to get better. With the slickrock looming ahead, I again sought comfort and advice in the bode But what I read only terrified me more. I learned that can send you sailing" and that failing to use the proper technique can result in "the dreaded crotch-split- ." With these confidence builders spinning in my brain, I got back on foe bike and WENT FOR IT. With grim determination, I gripped the handlebars, concentrated on the terrain in front of me, and sallied forth into foe unknown. I have hiked much of this country over the last 15 years...I love foe broad vistas; that beautiful contrast where the rcdrock meets foe blue sky, where only foe sound of Mourning Doves breaks the stillness of an otherwise silent and peaceful day. But now...but now I developed an entirely different intimacy with the land. I developed a special interest, an obsession almost, with the land that exists exactly three feet in front of my bike. Sometimes it was difficult to discern aU foe subtle changes in the rock because I was bouncing so badly that my vision was blurred. Still, I just couldn't take my eyes off that tiny piece of real estate which I saw just before I ran over it In an effort that I considered almost as miraculous as foe election of foe Grand County Council, I reached the top of the slickrock summit and paused briefly to congratulate myself. The view, as always, was incredible. I could see most of foe Colorado River drainage, from the Blue Mountains on the south to my beloved Henry Mountains on the western horizon. But I had no sense of how I'd gotten here. A hike from point A to point B allows me to see the changes that occur between those two locations. I see the effects of last week's flash floods on the dry washes and I see foe tracks of a solitary coyote that passed by when foe flooding had subsided. I see that little patches of Newberry Twin Pod are already trying to bloom, even as cold March winds scour the sandstone. I see two rusty bean cans, left under an old pinion pine by a cowboy. .30 years ago? 60 years ago? Who knows? But now, I stood on the brink of this sandstone massif, feeling like a transcontinental jet traveler who knows nothing of foe land he has just flown over. I could see my car gleaming in foe noon day sun, three miles away. What stories lay between here and there? I couldn't tell you. re-rea- d dab-fre- "Dab-free?- Dab-virgi- "pedal-gougi- I got ready for the ride back to the car "posting," he recommends that political specialist Sr features Ken Davcy contributing writers Jack Campbell Jane S. Jones Cherie Gilmore ng Grocne historical photos poetry Herb Ringer roving reporter Robert Fulghum Frank Lemon food editor Willie Flocko I and consulted Todd's book one last time. For downhill "pinch the saddle between my thighs." I think not. After a momentous downhill, descent that would take too long to describe and would be too painful to recall I reached the safety of my car, stashed foe bike in foe back, and spent the rest of foe day using my feet to explore the country instead of foe seat of my pants. When I got home that evening, I concluded that biking is more like rock climbing than hiking. It is personally challenging, it tests one's strength and endurance, one's balance and skill And it is a test of one's equipment as well. Having submitted myself to this test I still don't see what the deal with foe royal blue tights is, but I am only a beginner. But most important now that I have subjected myself to this grueling ordeal and experienced biking on a personal level, I kept my promise and got to write this story. And next time. I'm walking. THE CANYON COUNTRY ZEPI IYR copyright 1993 all rights reserved The Canyon Country Zephyr is a monthly newspaper, published eleven times a year at Moab, Utah. The opinions expressed herein are not necessarily those of its vendors, advertisers, or even at times of its publisher Ive made a few wise cracks at Todd's expense, there is no doubt that Above & Beyond is Slickrock the most comprehensive and sensitively-writte- n book on mountain biking that is available today. The impacts of fat tire biking on the fragile desert terrain have been a concern for Note: While always Todd and are reflected in his writing. . MM major |