I woke up stiff and sore, feeling every day of my almost 42 years. But when I unzipped the tent at 6:30 am, the sun was already high and the sky clear blue. I made coffee, walked the dog, had a light breakfast, read for a while and cleaned up camp. Too cold to sit around. I slowly filled my Camelback and changed into riding gear. With no other tasks to aid procrastination, I threw a leg over my aging Stumpjumper and slowly pedaled toward the trail, a mere 20 yards from my campsite.
My legs protested at the effort of the first 100 uphill yards. Then they settled into an easy granny gear spin as we started up the switchbacks toward the fire lookout. Only 50 degrees, despite the warmth of the sun, and the only sounds were the wind whispering in the pines and my heavy breathing. I startled a deer as I crossed the forest road onto the main trail.
Having company might have lent more enthusiasm to the ride, but it wasn't long before I was enjoying the solitude of the quiet forest and the comfort of my own leisurely pace.
Not quite 30 minutes uphill to the lookout where the sun was warm but the wind cold, so I didn't linger. A short but fun downhill led to another road crossing where I startled another deer before starting a short, steep climb followed by more mellow climbing. Then another short down, a right turn, short climb to the beginning of a 3-mile descent, twisting alongside a clearcut and dropping over roots, fast and furious.
The last time I rode this trail, I was with a group and on my Niner single speed. Today I was grateful for the gears, legs tired from a week that included two races and a quad-busting hike, plus a road ride and a trail run. Only two months away from a 100-mile mountain bike race I entered months ago and this is supposed to be a training ride. Instead, it's just a pleasant solo spin on my favorite trail system, finally clear of snow but not yet eroded from too many treads rolling over it.
My shoulders are relaxed and still, hands firmly (but not too firmly) wrapped around the bar ends, chest forward, legs pumping a steady cadence as I deftly steer Stumpy up and around and around and up. Still breathing hard, but my heart rate has settled into a sustainable rhythm.
Finally, I crest the high point of the ride and start down a series of wide switchbacks. They would be so fun if the trail weren't paved in pea-size gravel, inviting the tires to slide out and dump me in the brush. Til now, I haven't seen a soul, save five deer along the way. But I roll through the main trailhead and see two cars and riders getting ready to roll. Then my favorite part: the sweetest three miles of single track I've ever ridden, smooth and fast and flowing, requiring only the occasional brake check until the switchback down to the creek crossing, then mostly downhill back to the campsite...where I was disappointed the ride was over.
But I felt a bit smug as I enjoyed my post-ride beer in the sun as others rode past to begin the climb...
