Last year I really had no idea what I was in for. I knew there would be climbing, but really until you experience it, it's hard to comprehend. This year I knew what was coming.
This year my best friend Dan wouldn't be along with me. I'd still be with a great group of friends, but no right-hand man. This year I wouldn't have the luxury of a hot-shit carbon fiber road bike, but instead a heavy as shit, cobbled together, old aluminum tank...
This year however, I did feel better prepared going in. I'd spent a lot of time over the winter getting to know my stationary trainer, and getting my living room very sweaty. I knew that other than having a week off to relax amongst beautiful scenery, and to inevitably create lasting memories with great friends, this was going to be fundamental training to kick off the long season ahead.
I had my own goals for the week, like not crashing, riding strong every time out, and of course having FUN, but I was also given a couple goals to achieve. Those being, make sure to follow a couple of the very talented mountain bikers I was out there with, study what they're doing, and pretty much, monkey see, monkey do. No problem. The other more compelling thing I was to accomplish, was to simply, "make it up the driveway." Hmmm. Well turns out the driveway for this condo happens to hover between a pitch of 20 to a supposed 30 degrees at it's steepest... Yes, I'm talking cars can barely make it up and it hurts to just walk up it...
As it turned out, our second day on the road, after a great ride the day prior, and at the end of terrific sixty mountainous miler, I'd get to try it out... Keeping in mind, the private road leading up to the driveway itself is no joke either! Struggling up one of the final gradients in my granny gear before the driveway, dying, I thought to myself, 'There's just no way...'
But mercifully, after that climb, the road actually leveled off a bit, and allowed me to recover enough to go for it. (and yes, in the back of my mind, I really didn't want to have to walk my bike up, because that would have taken longer, and probably would have hurt even more)
So back into the granny gear I shift as the pavement goes straight upwards in front of me. And I HAMMER, sprinting out of the saddle, as absolutely hard as I can turn the pedals. The front wheel occasionally coming off the ground. As I crest the peak onto level ground I let out a hugely satisfying, Ric Flair-esque, WOOOOOOOOOOOO!! What a way to finish a ride! And really what an absurd feeling of accomplishment, climbing the driveway, haha. But it felt great, and the 1225watts is all it took.
Onto the mountain bike. I only actually rode the fat tires twice this year. But both were of course, memorable experiences. We met former Wisconsinite, current Asheville resident, and pro mt biker/ cyclocrosser Meghan Korol at the Dupont Forest for her to show us around, and hopefully not kill us too badly... She took us on, what can only be described as, some pretty gnarly trails. Descents with the occasional rutted, two foot drop-off, lots of scary rock gardens, and some pretty insane climbs, including one that was crazy steep, on 'slick rock' the whole way up, no less. One of those aforementioned '2-foot drop-offs' caught me off guard on a descent, and I wasn't able to get my weight back far enough, soon enough. Of course resulting in a perfectly executed endo-cartwheel over the handlebars and into the surrounding nature. Having landed on mostly large rocks and a tree or two, I did a body check followed by a bike check and found that though scraped a little, and rattled a bit, we were no worse for the wear. Plus I didn't feel quite as bad when I learned that just about 75% of us hit the ground that day, and my boo-boos were among the least severe. But then this happened.
The trail came to a river crossing. From where we were to the other side was probably around fifty feet at the most, but through thirty something degree, very fast moving water... It was decided that shoes and socks off, bike on the shoulder was the best way to forge the river. After two or three were across with no difficulty, and the rest apprehensively waited for someone else to go, I went for it. Stepping in, my first thoughts were, "Oh my God this is cold water!" followed immediately by, "Oh my God, these rocks are the slipperiest things I've ever touched!" this may end badly... So shoes in one hand, bike in the other, I inched forward. With every motion I made, the rapid current pushed harder and harder on my struggling for traction feet. And then, ironically, right after declaring to the others, "Don't worry, if anyone falls in, it'll be me..." my foot slipped, I stumbled, stumbled a bit more, almost saved it, stumbled again, and down I went. Dropping my shoes and my bike as I fell, I quickly grasped for my bike as I became the newest river rapid, freezing water breaking over me. Luckily my feet got wedged on some rocks so I, myself wasn't washed away... Somehow my shoes got corralled by my bike, and thankfully weren't lost either... And so there I was, sitting in the freezing river. Now what!? Fortunately, since I only made it probably a whopping four feet into the damn river before eating it, I was able to hand my shoes, and then my bike back to the dry people on the river bank. Now without having to worry about the shoes and the bike, I was able to balance my lanky, not made for river crossing, body across the river much more successfully... Yea I still took my sweet ass time, but I earned it, and I sure as hell wasn't going in again. And after everybody and all the gear made it across successfully, with of course, no more disasters, we all laughed about it. For the next two days in fact, haha. But I believe as one of my housemates pointed out, 'if this is the worst thing that happens this week, it was a pretty damn good week.'
And he was exactly right, not just because there were indeed no more fiascos, but beyond being scared for my life momentarily, it was just another extremely funny point in my life :) I'll take it.
Now beyond the memories already mentioned, amazing food, amazing mountain views, watching every sunset, bonding with great people, night time flatulence wars in the man-cave/ bear room, laughing till we cried, sampling moonshine and growlers of local brew, what will really stick out in my mind from this trip will be the screaming, high speed descents. Last year as a result of crashing fairly badly, the very first day, on the very first descent, I pretty much lost my nerve for the rest of the trip as far as going down quickly was concerned. But this year, even though I was on a bike that I wasn't completely confident in, I threw risk to the wind, turned my brain off a bit, and just let gravity do it's thing. Flying along at over 40mph on a little metal bicycle with rim brakes, having little more protection than a measly helmet, flipping the off switch in your brain is really what you have to do. The what-if's can't be anywhere in your head. When letting everything hang out, and going for it, cannonballing at top speed, carving through hairpin after hairpin, switchback after switchback is when I truly found the most rewarding, breath-taking experience I've ever had on a bike. I've never felt more ALIVE.
So to conclude, I've realized it's not necessarily North Carolina that I love. Yes the weather was perfect and the scenery is incredible. But in the end, what I really love is cycling. I got to ride my bike, with my friends everyday for a week, and I love that. If I could do that all the time, it wouldn't matter what state I was in. Bikes are good. Yay bikes!
