So we get a call from Peter who wants us to join him on a mountain biking vacation in Moab. Now, I'm not much of a mountain biker, being able to barely keep the rubber side down on my road bike without the additional impediments of rocks, twigs, and dirt, but this seemed like a rare opportunity. Since time immemorial every vacation I've suggested has involved biking. I've been dragged under protest on hiking and skiing vacations. So here was a chance for a biking vacation, and it wasn't my idea. This definitely had elements of brer rabbit and the briar patch. Of course, it was mountain biking, which really isn't biking, but it was close enough.
We had a couple of days in Moab before the actual trip to do some riding. In preparation for the trip, Dave had been sending us links to web sites describing "great" rides in the area we could do before the trip started. Now a great ride for a twenty something mountain bike dude with no fear of death means something entirely different from my perspective. I decided to ignore this and suggested we find some really boring rides. I think I set everyone's expectations sufficiently low by the time the trip started.
The others went out earlier and had spent a day "canyoneering" which as close as I can make out involves paying someone a vast amount of money to be allowed to throw yourself over precipices and cover your body with bruises. Can't say I really missed that one.
The first day we were there we did some riding on the so-called "slick rock." It would more aptly be described as "jagged rock with lots of FDGB potential." The rock and my right knee became as one, and I was also introduced on a more personal basis to the local cacti. I provided Susan some evening entertainment by allowing her to pick cactus spines out of my ankle. Not an activity recommended for a first date. I decided that it was going to be a very long week, indeed.
The good thing about our preride rides was that it gave us time to repair our equipment, which had come with what the insurance companies like to call a "preexisting condition" from our Costa Rica trip. The preexisting condition was that Susan's derailleur was all bent out of shape and so was mine. I realized something was amiss when shifting to the largest cog in the rear caused a pleasant melody of derailleur parts pinging against spokes. I determined that I would need to look at that when the ride was over. I got to look at it a bit sooner, since on one ill-advised shift, the derailleur got caught in the spokes and wrenched forcibly away. Since there were probably more bike shops in Moab than houses, we had no trouble replacing said items. I thought the mechanical problems together with the physical problems didn't bode well for the actual trip.
But I was wrong, the actual trip went pretty smoothly. The route stayed on roads the jeep could follow, so there were no real scary bits to ride. I figured if a jeep could go over it, it wouldn't be involve any of these "big air" stretches which could only result in "big hospital bills" for moi. It was a lot like backpacking in that you got out into the backcountry, but you have a jeep to carry all the comforts of home. Well, not exactly all the comforts, since we had to sleep in tents and water was in short supply, hence no showers. But the bar was well stocked.
I discovered that mountain biking is a lot like cross country skiing, in that, unlike road biking it requires a fair amount of skill to stay vertical in addition to dumb brute force. Like skiing, I could often climb things I had no business going down. I discovered the beauty of front suspension on this trip. It seems that with a suspended bike, no matter how badly you screw up, you have a fair chance of bouncing along and remaining in the saddle as opposed to a cactus accessory. With my old bike, after crashing into the things I did on the trip, I would have been launched into another state. With the suspension, all was well. There was one section where I hadn't been paying attention and discovered I was about to enter a giant crevass (about a foot gap between rocks actually). Thinking fast, I did my best Evel Knievel jump, which had the effect of making the front wheel crash into the rock on the far side with even more force than it would have otherwise. I hit the saddle with such force I really expected to seatpost to snap right off. Fortunately, I've already had all the children I intend to. That was actually the worst mishap except of course for reopening my wounded knee and becoming a cactus pincushion yet again.
It definitely was a unique experience. Does it make me want to become a radical gonzo mountain biker after this? I don't think so.
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