When we bought our house, the holder was kind of hanging by its last leg. KB pulled it off and we set the roll on the counter. We were planning on replacing it and it was a oft mentioned item for about six months. Then it became an accepted part of the bathroom as bigger and more fun projects came around. And now it’s just there. Sitting and waiting for its time to be used. And then it is put back. The four holes where the holder had been are still there. It’s not something that we think about and it doesn’t bother us at all.

Inertia is the resistance of any physical object to a change in its state of motion or rest, or the tendency of an object to resist any change in its motion. The principle of inertia is one of the fundamental principles of classical physics which are used to describe the motion of matter and how it is affected by applied forces. Inertia comes from the Latin word, iners, meaning idle, or lazy. – Wikipedia

Inertia. We all need it. We all use it. We all hate it. Inertia keeps us sitting in front of the tv watching that show that we have already seen because nothing original has been penned for television in at least 50 years. It is also what makes it possible for us to propel ourselves forward and maintain balance, essentially making it possible to ride a bike. Inertia can keep us sitting or keep us moving.

That roll of TP sits comfortably on top of the toilet. There is no reason for us to move it or install some arbitrary device to give it a place to rest. At one point there was a thought about doing said thing, but inertia kept it where it is and it will stay there. Much in the same way that my car keeps taking me to and from work. Or that all my bikes stay stowed comfortably in the overcrowded shed. Unridden and therefore undirty and unwornout.

It could be conceived as laziness, but the fact is that once we become comfortable with a particular idea or location, we will do what is within our power to stay that way.

The first pedal stroke is always the hardest, especially when that pedal stroke is needed to break out of a cycle of not riding. There is always a reason, always an excuse. The bike is comfortable where it rests and I am comfortable in my car. There is no one yelling at me to get a car. No cops pulling me over because I look suspicious. Just a four-wheeled coffin propelled by dead dinosaurs that takes me where I want to go with almost no effort of my own.

That same force can also keep us riding. By forming the habit to not use the car, we essentially are creating an inert force that will keep us riding. But reaching that point can be difficult.

As such, here I sit typing words that keep me safely inside my house where the roll of TP sits comfortably within reach on the top of the toilet.

Photo by Fixie Dave

I usually just make cycling difficult for myself. However, sometimes there are those who need a little bit of a push into the world of HTFU and so we have to arrange for them to suffer. With this in mind, there was a plan laid that consisted of two phases. 1 get everyone together and get them drunk. 2 make sure said people ride their bikes the next day.

To start the mission, I sent out invitations to  the Mooseknuckler Cycling Alliance Social Lounge (you really would have thought I could come up with a shorter name) that was for a get-together that was to happen after the Red Rock Rampage. The house was cleaned, invitations were made and booze was purchased. Certain of the guests were in for about 5 hours of kick ass fun followed by 18 hours of “holy shit, what have I done to myself?”

So once the party was on, this being a party completely occupied by bike-type folks, riding plans began to be laid out. Those who were unaware that they were about to be forced into an edition of Making Cycling Difficult gladly said they would ride the next day. Of course all these plans and obligations were being made under the influence of alcohol and lots of peer pressure.

We were to meet at 11am the next morning.

Every time Target #1 grabbed another beer I figured we were moving the time back an hour or so. He even accused me of having too much to drink, but I remember that instance and I don’t think he does.

As all well planned ideas do, things went smoothly. We even had the added bonus of Mitch showing up with a bottle of Pisco right at the time when certain people were primed for being persuaded to try a new drink. Pisco tastings abounded. And then seconds were served. This is where I stopped, knowing full well what was planned for the next day and having a real desire to ride my bike. Ten more minutes went by and I noticed the Pisco was basically gone.

All of this was occurring at about 10:30, which just happens to coincide with the exact time that Target #2 remembers at every party that Sir Gurr didn’t show up and that she has to call him. I have learned to hide my phone. Paul has not. Sir Gurr was called, multiple times until he actually answered and was berated by Target #2 for not showing up to our get-together.

Paul and Mitch left after their crucial roles had been completed.

Then I was blindsided. Gurr actually showed up. On his bike. This was at 11:15ish, I didn’t look at the clock. Gurr showing up at said time wasn’t planned but played well into the whole scenario. As things were slowing dying down, he brought the party back to full tilt with just one hello. And that, more than anything else, was the nail in the coffin of my targets.

People started to trickle home, trickle into rooms were they were to crash for the evening and those who were left kept on going strong. And going strong. And going strong.

“This is my favorite Tool song,” was heard every time the song changed.

There was a plan to meet for breakfast at St. Helen’s at 9am as a way to make sure people were up and ready to go.

I turned the lights out. People kept going strong.

I turned the music off. People kept going strong.

And then around 2, they all finally filed out of the house. After which, I am told, a lot of, “This is my favorite street,” was heard throughout the neighborhood.

Phase 1 of Making Cycling Difficult, for Other People was accomplished. The next step was to ensure that the targets were up and ready to ride by 11…

I am a slave to habits. So as is my habit, despite the fact that I didn’t retire until 2 am, I rolled out of bed at 6. Of course, everyone was still sleeping. I took a quick shower and headed to the shop for some PBS (personal bike shit). After which, I returned at about 8 to the house to find people up and enjoying the warm light coming through the living room windows.

At 8:30 I sent two text messages. One said, “at 11?” The other read, “R u guys going to join us for breakfast?”

Reply from target #1, “Where?”

Reply from target #2′s significant other, “Just waiting for target #2 to puke. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Both were awake.

Breakfast was consumed and I readied myself for the ride. 11 rolled around and the group began to congregate at the MCA Headquarters. We could have easily been a trailer for the next zombie thriller. Think Shawn of the Dead but with bike folk.

What better place to ride the day after the Rampage with a roaring hangover than the Goose. We headed out.

Target #1 took at least 34.27 minutes to actually get ready to ride once we were at the trailhead. Target #2 was having trouble standing, let alone pedaling a bike. Once we were done waiting for Target #1 to get ready and we started riding, the pace was slow. We were a rolling shit show at best and a walking one at worst.

The above picture was taken while we were waiting for the walking section of our group to catch up. It is riddled with symbolism. First, the blue bike is on its side not being ridden symbolizing those who had fallen due to the party from the previous night. Second, it is pointed at the water which is what we all were lacking at this point. Third, the view of Zion, or heaven if you will, is in the background. Pointing out that this is probably the closest we will ever be.

I didn’t count, but there was a lot of requests for headache curing medicine. There were a lot of dazed looks. The getting rad that usually occurs during a Goose session was tuned down by a factor of ten. We had a goal and it was to ride the Goose. So we rode the Goose and left the extracurricular stuff for another day.

Target #1 finished both the North and South Rims. Target #2 was forced to pull out about 1/2 way up the South Rim.

Mission accomplished.

Editor’s note: the names of Target #1 and Target #2 have been changed to Target #1 and Target #2 to hide their identities and protect the innocent children. This account of what took place may be slightly jaded and is most likely filled with errors and sarcastic overtones for your enjoyment.

P. L and R. Until next time…

We are blessed to once again be having the fixed-gear legend, Fixie Dave setting out the course. As is his liking, that means we start on top of one of the steepest damn hills in SG. Meet at the Brooks Nature Park at 400 N. Main Street at 8 pm sharp. We don’t wait around for slackers.

Oh, and bring your game face so we can throw pie at it.

Ride More!

Not a “I woke up screaming in fear” type of nightmare, it was more like “I showed up for school with no clothes” type of nightmare.

The only difference is that it wasn’t school that I showed up for and I didn’t forget my clothes. Rather it was True Grit that I showed up for and I had forgotten all my food. Anyone who has had the misfortune of seeing me hit the threshold of calories knows that it is not a pretty sight and things go downhill fast. And not the “hold onto the bars and point the front wheel” fun kind of downhill fast either. It’s more like an “oh shit I missed the turn and I am now trying to simply not die” downhill adventure. It’s definitely not something that can be controlled once it starts so it is best to avoid at all costs.

Anyway, back to my dream. I show up to True Grit and I have no food. Of course, in my dream the first thing that happens is me rolling into a rest stop and I start looking for my food and there just isn’t any. Also, the rest stops are century styled, in that they have food and water and are spaced evenly throughout the course.

So once the initial shock of not having anything to eat wears off, I am given Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups to fuel me. My desperate requests to know how far the next stop is are replied with a simply quizzical look and refusal to answer.

I take my Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and forge on. What else can I do?

As the nightmare continues, the scene is repeated over and over again. Me standing bewildered, out of food and bonking with a volunteer handing me the only food they have, a  Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. I toss it in my jersey pocket and head out with no knowledge of where the next stop is or if they have any food. This keeps going until I finally cross the finish line and collapse as someone hands me a burrito.

I’m not one to put much stock in the idea that dreams have deeper psychological meaning. I find them funny and sometimes slightly insightful of our worries. I’ve shared this nightmare with a few people for the humorous side of it which is also why I share it here. But as I said, I do believe dreams can shed light on the things that worry us.

As of right now, I am positive that I can start and finish the True Grit course just as I did in my dream. However, I am worried about how I am going to stay fueled without carrying PB and J’s in my hydration pack and stopping for lunch every hour or so. It really isn’t good for me to get hungry. It also isn’t good for me to consume gels, blocks or any other high energy type bull shit food. I go from normal to squirrel and then to dead in the course of about 15 minutes.

So I’ve been playing with some food options. One of my more successful forays into nutrition was the Del Taco Macho Veggie Burrito sans sour cream and cheese. I tucked said burrito into my jersey pocket and nibbled on it through the course of a 30 mile ride. I felt good throughout the ride even with the extra bit of exhaust that ensued. I didn’t mind so much and now that I think of it, said exhaust might keep people from trying to pass me. Added bonus.

The only downside I had to the burrito experiment was when I was done riding. I had about four bights left and finished them off and then dropped into the bath tub for a soak. Things were great until I tried to get out of the bath tub which happened to coincide with the point in time that my blood sugar dropped to that dangerous point and I headed down into zombieville. Yup I bonked getting out of the bath tube.

This can only be seen as a downside due to the fact that it happened. However, in hindsight I should have eaten a little more than a few swallows of a burrito when I got done. The burrito nutrition plan cannot be faulted for my oversight.

The other side of the dream is the fact that I was handed a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. I don’t eat sweets. I don’t like them and I don’t tend to crave them. As of January 3rd, I stopped drinking gallons of Mtn Dew every day. By eliminating said elixir from my diet, I basically eliminated my sugar intake. Since then those cravings I haven’t had in years, have slowly been creeping back into my mind. Hmmm sugar.

I haven’t tried the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup nutrition plan, other than in my dream, so I can’t say how well it works. I think I might give it a try.

P. L. and R.

The List:

As the race organizer, I was not going to participate and headed out on the crazy blue bike to observe and snap some shots. After some begging, I ended up riding most of the course. Yup, pedaled the beast to the top of dump hill. I kind of hope it never crests that summit again.

The next one will be the 24th of February. Be prepared…

A note on the photos, the shitty ones are mine taken with my phone. The good ones are Scarf’s. If you would like to see the winner’s photos you have to go to Facebook.

Out.

Even KB looks like she isn't having fun.

They say attitude is everything. Yesterday I proved that to be true. Mine sucked and so did my ride. After so much time needing to get some dirt on the tires and I finally get a chance to go and I can barely keep my eyes open.

My day started like so many of my days off. I woke up and had to go to work. I spent the morning answering as many questions as we could find to ask about our new POS system. We are up and stumbling. At least we are moving forward. I did my best to only be there for three hours but was there for four.

KB had made me an excellent lunch. Home made pizza, Guatemala (aka guacamole), rice and even saved me a beer. I gobbled down the food like a maniac. I’m pretty sure I would have died if I had gone any longer without food. Then the sleep set in with a vengeance. 

The Mrs. had been waiting all day to get out and ride. So my frowny face and sleep demeanor weren’t going to hold her back. I attempted to pull my shit together. I got the bikes ready, pulled on a chamois and loaded the car. We headed over to the Zen. More than one time on the way to the trailhead, I could feel my eyelids drooping and sleep quickly coming into my future. I pressed on.

Then of course there was the wind. The kind that turns a beautiful day into a not so nice afternoon. Frigid, fierce and gusty. I don’t like to ride in the wind very much. I may be fat, but I’m not fat enough to hold my ground against the wind.

And that folks, is the perfect recipe for Making Cycling Difficult. I think more than anything, if you start with the bad attitude everything else will fall into place. But the ingredients of sleepiness and wind don’t hurt.

In other news, I didn’t ride on Sunday but did get some hiking with the dogs and southern area exploring tucked into my day. I see an overnighter with KB in the near future.

Photo Evidence.

I think that is all for today.

I now get to go work on my day off.

P. L. and R.

I’ve always held that my best friends are those with whom I have shared singletrack. There is something  mystical about riding that forges bonds, bromances and what have yous. For the past three years I have had the opportunity to go riding with many students at Dixie State College as part of the Mooseknuckler Cycling Alliance outreach program. I get eight rides to show the ropes of riding dirty. I hope I do it justice.

There are students that I enjoy, students I don’t remember, those that linger in my mind like bad socks and those that become friends. The above picture is of a Norwegian student that came through my class, taking it multiple times and whose company I always enjoyed.  Not because he was the best rider. Not because he thought like me. Rather because he always had something to say that made me think. He was an outside opinion. I got to ride one last time with Erlend over the Xmas break and as always enjoyed it.

He is off to greener pastures and the Alliance wishes him the best of luck…

Speaking of pastures and the things that tend to lay within them, we had our third Alley Cat this past Friday. Fortunately, the only people to show were more interested in racing to the bar to have a drink than doing any actual racing. So we headed to Jazzy’s by the straightest path and never looked back. I have saved the course for this month’s race, unless the same friends show up and we just want a beer.

Speaking of this month and its inaugural sense, we had the second installation of the Mooseknuckler Cycling Alliance’s No Dabs Gooseberry Contest type ordeal. The contestants were few but came ready to rock. Prattipus, Shelby, Kevin Foote, the Berg and I headed up the South Rim to try our luck against one of the hardest trails in the area. We all faired quite well. I must admit it gave me pride to listen to the Berg counting hers and trying her best not to dab. She did well.

In the series, Prattipus and I find ourselves tied at two dabs each.

The Photo Evidences.

In mentioning photo evidences, Shelby has some good ones over on his blog as well. Check it out.

The weather has been pretty much on the amazing side for the past couple of weeks. If you haven’t been riding you should be ashamed.

P. L. and R.

Two Sundays ago, we did a multi-surface ride with Fixie, KB and Lynda Wallenfells. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to ride the CX bike on a ride so perfectly designed for it. I got my skinny on by skidding down the steps on Dino Cliffs, cruising on the pavement and hammering the dirt roads.

We did a Fixie designed loop that consisted of all three of the above surfaces. We started at the Winkel Trailhead (or if you prefer the official name, Cottonwood) and headed out on Prospector. The only bike that is more fun than a singlespeed CX is a singlespeed 29′r. The skinny tires make things a bit more sketchy and you can gain some amazing speed on the smooth sections. Just don’t forget about the sudden turns. I don’t think you could have knocked the smile off my face.

From Prospector, we headed to the Dino Cliffs. I tend to ride the Cliffs on my way to Church Rocks, but riding it this direction is a hell of a lot more fun. Except of course, the sand hill. We hit the dirt road known as Grapevine and made our way to the Interstate over pass and bombed down to and across Telegraph where we hit the bike path that drops to the Virgin. We followed this for as far as we could and then did some “This Land is your Land, This Land is my Land” traversing to hit the dirt road that is the back way to Sand Hollow.

It had been some time since I had been over that way and the views were pretty awesome. The road was loose in a couple of spots but the skinnies did just fine. After the dirt road, we made it to the paved road into Sand Hollow which we followed back to the highway and made our way around to Quail Creek and to the bottom of Prospector in Red Cliffs. And you guessed it, we road the bottom section of Prospector back to the car.

All in all we did about 27 miles. It was a beautiful day and fun was had by all.

Getting back on the CX bike has kept with my whole trying not to be a pussy thing we discussed a few posts back. Long rides, rough terrain and skinny tires.

Yea, I like that combination.

Some Photo Evidence from a few rides that the Alliance has hit since the last post.

And yes I do use cheater brakes. After today’s ride, I realized that it may make them easier to use if I actually adjusted the lever so I could grab it. I’ll let you know how that goes tomorrow.

Jumping to a completely different subject, This Friday will be this month’s Alley Cat. It is a New Year’s Eve Eve Alley Cat. You can read all about it here.

The Alliance has also been busy working the “advocacy” side of the table. If you haven’t checked it out yet, hop on over. DMBTA. There will be more content soon. I promise.

Anyone interested in doing a night ride tomorrow? Drop me a line. I may become interested if there is the right kind of persuasion.

Now a jam for Prattipuss.

I may be crazy but it seems that he once told me that he couldn’t stand to build houses for ass holes he would never meet and that never made an effort to say thanks. Great song.

Remember to get the skinnies out on the dirt and to keep it hard.

Peace. Love. And Revolution.

You may recall past Making Cycling Difficult posts about this particular area. I’m not sure what the draw is, but when the weather gets wet and cold I feel this desire to ride the sand.

It’s either a desire or my stupidity in forgetting that even when sand is wet, it is difficult to ride. But sometimes the point is to make it difficult, and this was one of those times.

I’ve attempted to make it up the Mill Creek road/trail to the wilderness boundary many a time. I’ve always turned around after about 20-30 minutes because I am a big pussy. And there are few things that can top the frustration of riding in sand.

I was determined. I had the time. I had the idea. So I did it. I pedaled, pushed, dragged, slid, and hiked my way to the boundary.

It was pretty awesome, as you can see from the photo, but it didn’t quench my thirst. Now that I’ve made it to the boundary, I want to hike to the ridge. Maybe see what is up Washington Hollow. It is a cool little cove. And no one is there which is more than enough of a reason for me to go back.

Photo evidence.

And for those of you wondering, the sand was actually a lot of fun. Would I want to ride in the sand every day? No, but once I reached the top and was able to turn around and come back down into town it was a blast. I was able to ride almost the entire way back. I swung down into the drops and just did everything I could to keep the rubber side down and the pedals turning. The squirming and washing out added to the excitement. I’ll be back.

Out.

The one above is from a poorly thought out trip from White Pine to Bunch Grass in the snow. The Mighty Green Socks, his uncle and I pushed our bikes up to the top of the climb. Then slid our way down the switch backs into White Pine. After the drop, the snow thinned enough that we could ride fairly well. The stream crossings were quite a bit wider than they usually were and as Green Socks was coming across one of the larger ones, he stalled and then fell over completely soaking himself. Mind you this was about eight miles from the car, we were making super slow progress due to the snow and now we had a soaking wet Brengelman to deal with. What a ride.

The mighty Mooseknuckler Banner that you see at the top of the page is also one of these “old,” “lost” photos. It happens to be from the first SloToJa. Neither myself nor Casey can recall which pass this is on but when we made it we had to take some pictures. My memory doesn’t serve well enough to recall, but this picture may be at the top of the climb that I walked the last mile or so pushing my bike. I rode the tour singlespeed and some of the climbs were a bit long and/or steep.

So what’s the point of the nostalgia? The point is I’ve turned into a great, big pussy. Fat, slow and unmotivated. Hell, I don’t even own a rigid mountain bike any more.

As I have been perusing through these photographs, the desire to “see what is beyond the next turn” has begun to stir within my gut. That desire that we all have to just see if it is possible. Can I turn the crank one more time? Can I do this drop? Why not ride the whole damn thing in the snow, right before sunset? I don’t know the answer to any of these questions, but I think it’s time for me to start asking them again.

For what it’s worth, those are my two cents.

We will be doing a night ride tomorrow. In an effort to drive less than we actually ride, we will be meeting at the Service Center at 7:30 and will ride up to Paradise, do the loop and then return to the service center. I promise to only complain about how retarded the trail is twice. And that was one. If you prefer to drive, you are more than welcome to meet us at the Chuckawala trailhead about 20 minutes later. Remember flashy lights for the road part of the ride.

Now, time to ride into the sunset.

P. L. and R.