| OCR Text |
Show I know. You can't afford not to buy a helmet buy the accompanying helmet. (I know, I was 19, if that's any explanation.) My trepidation, combined with the lethargy ensured that integrating this mode of summer humid eastern induced by a hot, transportationexerdsesport into my life was not a success. Although I made further I attempts over the years, the Ross stayed East when went West again. Following my return to Moab, and possessed of an occasionally contrary nature, I would take perverse pleasure in announcing to those who inquired that not only did I not own a mountain bike, I had never ridden one. Their disbelief tickled me pink. That enjoyable pastime was cut cruelly short when I received, yes, a mountain bike I think Peter Glorious dark metallic red, this one. for my birthday. (my husband...then suitor) tired of my incessant crowing and willfully unenlightened STREA MOFC ONSC IOUSN comments. Despite this gift, the enjoyment of mountain biking as a sport remains somewhat of a mystery to me. I suppose it's cheaper than a membership to Bally's, but not if you own a mountain bike that carries a larger insurance policy than some And that doesn't begin to cover the associated paraphernalia that automobiles. appears to be required by most zealous enthusiasts. I think that the bikes themselves are a great innovation, although for my riding purposes I suppose it's a little bit of overkill. I used to think that one of the main attractions for all the hoopla about riding them in this area was to see, and enjoy, more of the desert. Right. There may be some - okay, maybe a lot - who ride for that reason, but it seems as if the majority are simply using the desert as a giant free-rangym. To plagiarize Stiles, think of recreation as our latest extractive industry but I digress and that's a whole other topic. The biking in and of itself seems somewhat masochistic. I periodically have aspirations of riding - who wouldn't (be you male or female) after viewing the physiques of avid women riders? "Maybe I could look like that," I think. Besides, I would also benefit extraordinarily by seeing more desert. What could be better than that? Delusions of grandeur. It usually takes me just a few miles and one good hill before I am whining about who suggested such an excursion. Unfortunately, Peter shows no mercy and reveals a mind like a steel trap (selective, of course) by pointing a finger back at me. H ESS... ge As the Sprocket Turns A Cycling Saga By Anne Wilson Writing about mountain biking is nothing new in this publication, though my comments are framed more around bicycling in general. I was motivated towards that end by two things. The first was a recent train of thought that led me from the imminent end of summer to the anticipation of fall, which was followed by, Hoh, yeah, the Fat Tire Festival is coming". That thought was accompanied by a vague sense of dread about the associated onslaught of humanity (and 1 use the term lightly) that invades Moab. The second thing to prompt my essay was a recent trip to visit my grandfather in upstate New York. If you live in Moab, you undoubtedly know what happens when you travel. Most people who've actually heard of Moab (and yes, there are still a few who have not) will immediately inquire about your status as a mountain bike enthusiast. After all, why else would anyone live in this country? In addition to living in I I raised here was have and Moab, frequently been asked if I grew up mountain from a tender age on," they undoubtedly think wistfully. biking. "Ah, a sprocket-hea- d These days, I tend to view this naivete as an indirect, if ignorant, compliment on my (perceived) youth and bat my eyelashes accordingly. It's conceivable that, had I been on the cutting edge of this sport with Bill and Robin Groff, I might have heard of such things as mountain bikes while in my teens. As it happens, I was fairly typical for my age and was generally preoccupied with planning my exodus from the place (never to return) and a certain young scoundrel who captured my fancy from an early date. All things considered, a piece of equipment such as a mountain bike would have proved a welcome addition to me as a youth. My sister and I didn't bike much in our "wonder years". While we enjoyed if, living on a ranch with rough dirt roads and more than its fair share of goatheads (known more precisely to those who insist as zygophyllaceae) kept the tires of our banana bike in perpetual need of repair. There are only so many patches that you can put on a tube - then not only is it un salvageable, but you lose heart in the exercise. . .literally and figuratively. As a young girl I probably would have sold my soul for a tube of Slime and a little more tread. Perhaps this history is what has prevented me from ever developing a full appreciation for bicycling (be it mountain or otherwise). When I went off to college in the East, there were bicycles everywhere. Quite a revelation for me. They were mostly road bikes, but Kate Coffey had a mountain bike. She religiously took it to her room on the fourth floor every night. That was my first personal glimpse of the fervor that would surround these bicycles. I went so far as to purchase a Ross road bike one summer during college. I was living in Vermont and had high hopes for integrating biking into my life. After 25 there no mile 15 was commute. Just a brief all, minute ride to work. Downhill on the way home. Conserving energy. Preventing my own minutia of chlorofluorocarbons from poisoning the atmosphere. Trendy green lifestyle. I discovered that the Ross didn't remove itself from the back porch of my hovel of its own volition, and riding in traffic gave me literal nightmares. Particularly considering that having spent a grand total of $120 on the bike, I didn't have enough money to . .vrv God-forsak- en afore-mention- ed God-forsak- en Not to get personal, but after a single ride, my backside is bruised enough that the idea of climbing back on the contraption seems like a modern form of torture. All this time I thought the purpose of that portion of our anatomy was padding. Besides, that's not the only trouble. I have enough difficulty negotiating level surfaces, let alone managing the gears, my and coordination to ascend hills. breathing, my g isn't a problem for me, so it's a little humiliating. Ordinarily As far as the g aspect is concerned. I'm usually too busy looking at the I to ensure that don't hit a rock, fly over the handlebars and utilize my helmet ground for its intended purpose, to admire my surroundings. Stopping on a rise has provided some breath-takin- g views. . . thereby preventing my lungs from collapsing. I ve never undertaken a prolonged, technically anything ride (where the real riders go), so perhaps I speak too freely and too unknowingly. However, I have been puzzled by the peculiar sights of mountain bikers vomiting and collapsed multi-taskin- 12-spe- ed sight-seein- red-face- d, With a cartoon like this, how WHO IS GREG KENNEDY? can lose? and why is he running for city council? I I'm the guy most of you have seen working at liquid station in front of Gty Market. My reasons for entering the race for city council are fairly simple. I love Moab, it's the best place I've ever lived. My wife Laura and I have three children which we plan to raise here. As Moab grows and evolves, I'd like to see it retain the quality of life I fell in love with. As the election gets underway, feel free to stop by my stand at City Market You can share your concerns and ask me questions. If you haven't registered to vote, we have forms available. Remember the registration deadline is October IS. Greg Kennedy: 4 Year City Council iTWELV |
