I worked for a shop called Sunrise. The owner of said shop explained that he had chosen that name for a couple of reasons. A) He liked the idea of a beginning. Cycling held a deeper meaning to him than just pedaling to race and he wanted his shop to be an emblem of that. And 2) It was the only shop on the East side of Main Street.

The Spanish word for sunrise is Amanecer. Like all cross language meanings, amanecer has a few. In Chile, where I learned the brown man’s tongue, it was often used in terms of partying. To say, “Amanecimos ayer” meant you partied all night and didn’t stop until the sun came up. This was often used as a way to judge a party. If it didn’t amanecer, it wasn’t worth attending.

The meaning that I was always fascinated by (yes, I am fascinated by word meanings and the nuances that are used through colloquial speech) was the use for an “awakening.” Not that waking up is that cool, but when that meaning is tied to the sunrise it takes on a bit of a different hue. The Sunrise is an Awakening, a break from the day before. A new way of looking at things, an “amanecer.”

Many people like to take the arbitrarily assigned date for the New Year and look back on what was and look forward to their new beginning. I prefer to wait until February or March. For starters, there is no way I am getting up January 1st to go for a jog. It just isn’t going to happen. I don’t like to set myself up for failure. So I wait until the weather has warmed a bit before looking back. It tends to give me a bit more of a happy lookout on life. And if I decide changes are in order it gives those changes more of a chance to succeed. Plus I don’t like arbitrarily assigned dates that I am supposed to live by. If someone is going to arbitrarily assign something to my life, it will be me.

About this time last year, I was in one of the worst funks I think I’ve ever been in. I guess you could call it depression but I think that may be a bit strong of a word. It was a funk, a rut. Nothing I was doing seemed like a good idea and nothing I could do seemed any better. I tried making some changes, they didn’t help until…

I traded a set of wheels that had hung on a road bike in my shed for about 9 months for the crazy blue bike. And then I rode the thing. It brought me right out of the funk as quick as a month of commuting can. I then spent most of the rest of the year cleaning up my messes that I had made for the few months before that.

This past Monday was a stark realization that the demons I have buried under years of alcohol consumption aren’t buried very well. A simple photograph or a memory can bring them raging to the surface and propel me deep into the spaces in between. This past Monday was also a reminder of how important riding my bike is for my mental health. A simple 26 mile ride can bring me back quicker than anything else.

And I guess that is what it is all about, riding. A simple realization that forward motion propelled by one’s own power can be an awakening…

P. L. and R.

Amaneced!

Sunday saw the Mooseknuckler-mobile out to Babylon. Shelby was hoping for some good light for some video taking. KB and I hadn’t ridden the trail so we tagged along. Unfortunately, the light was less than cooperative with the hazy afternoon and all. Despite the lack of death defyingly beautiful video, good riding was had by all. Except maybe Shelby who lugged around all his photo equipment…

Yesterday, found your Uncle Knuckler with a head full of old demons that he thought he had slain. Luckily, I had the day off and plenty of bikes from which to pick. Even with the shed full of bikes, it took a good deal of mental effort to kit up and pedal may way into the desert instead of grabbing the bottle and putting MASH on repeat. It took about five miles, but once I hit the Prospector I couldn’t help but smile and watch the clouds play with the red rocks. After that point, there was nothing that could stop me from riding as much as I possibly could. I spun out to Red Cliffs, rode the little loop in the parking lot and worked my way home, hitting every section of singletrack I could find.

Them demons been exorcised. Nuf said.

Speaking of all those bikes. It has been determined that we are at capacity.

The only good thing about that is one of the bikes isn’t ours. We borrowed my dad’s 29′r hardtail so KB could see if she needed one. So technically we have space for one more. And I guess we could always put a couple back in the drum room if we absolutely necessary…

After organizing the corral on Sunday, I couldn’t help but feel a little bad that my International hadn’t been ridden in a while. I’m not one to hit the pavement often but I really dig this bike. And she was covered in dust with flat tires. I got off a little early today and decided to maximize my time for riding and grabbed the skinny tire bike. It’s been a while, but when I got home from my road ride, I had a big smile on my face and plans of riding her again soon have been bouncing around in my head ever since.

In preparation for today’s ride, I realized I needed a saddle bag. Thanks to Scarf I had one handy that went well with the overall motif of my thoughts of road riding.

Aint she a beaut?

Anyway, my legs currently feel like lead and my good friend Jose is here to help me get through the evening. So I must bid you all goodnight, but first, the photo evidence of Babylon (yea, I know Shelby, the light is flat…).

P. L. and R.

When I was but a wee lad, I spent a lot of time thinking. Most of the ideas and thoughts that bounced around in my head went ahead and bounced right out. There were only a few that stuck and a few that I attempted to see if they could be. Most of these were purely philosophical bull shit type questions. One of these questions was the existence of silence.

I thought a lot about silence. I spent a lot of time alone tramping around wherever it was that I could in search of the absence of sound. I quickly found that the colder the weather, the deeper the void of sound was.

Anyone who has spent a winter night on top of mountain where cars are not aloud, where people do not tread (at least very often) and where the snow is high, are probably the closest they will ever be to truly experiencing silence. That void of noise where all is still and all is dead. There is no motion, no disturbing sound. The waves of the air are undisturbed. Peace.

Through this time of seeking for complete silence, it quickly became evident that man cannot experience it. The world can be completely at ease but man cannot. He may sit in the middle of a meadow where nothing stirs. But the fact that he is there, means there is noise for he can never be still. He must always breath. And the sound of breath is never louder than when one is seeking for it to not disturb the surrounding solitude. It bursts the deafening abyss of sound with little respect for those around it. Hold your breath? Sure, then the noise of your head about to explode begins. The pounding in your ears will overwhelm anything that has ever come from outside them. Man cannot be still.

Silence does not exist for us.

But that doesn’t really matter. I wasn’t searching so much for the silence as much as the solitude and peace that existed in the places that I searched. Many of my favorite activities are remnants of this search. Snowshoeing, night riding, backpacking… all contain an element of the silent and all are best done alone.

P. L. and R.

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 conquered a demon that has been haunting me for years. Yes years. I am right now trying to figure out how long it has been since I first pussed out on this move, but my memory is failing me. I’m sure it has been at least five.

It was such a huge demon for me that I dubbed it the Wall of Death. I’ve watched it ridden by numerous people hundreds of times, but I could never get myself to drop in.

Well, this past Sunday I did. I rode the Wall of Death. Shelby has a photo of it.

Which I have stolen.

As in all demons, once conquered I felt like a pussy. It sure didn’t seem like it was as bad as I thought it was.

Here’s Danny riding it.

Demons have haunted me since I first started riding bikes. I can’t recall a time that there wasn’t a move that I was either avoiding or unsuccessfully trying to clean. The first one I killed was the middle finger of the Three Fingers of Death. I had ridden both the right and the left, but I couldn’t quite get my front tire to drop off that tiny drop that takes you to the end. I would roll up skidding (they used to call me skid) sideways right up to the lip and then stop. Looking over the edge, my fingers twitching with anticipation but then my ball sack would suck back into pussy zone and I would dab.

At this point I would be angry with myself. Shouldering my bike I would scramble down the drop and then roll the last section of the finger. I would always stop and look back, knowing that at some point I would have to drop that bitch and kick its ass.

Of course, I finally did let go of the brakes and send my front tire over the lip. At which time I arrived safely at the bottom and did my ever so characteristic throw of the bike and screaming that has become my victory dance over demons. The rush of adrenaline of success is what probably hooked me on mountain biking. I’m still an addict today.

In many ways that is what the No Dabs Contest is about. Attempting and attempting until that demon that has plagued your mind and sleep is cast into the deep. Just like Gandolf conquering his demon in The Fellowship of the Ring. Yes. It is that epic. The idea is to take a trail that is close to impossible to clean and then give it everything you have to clean it. Have people cleaned it? Yup. Do they tend to do it consistently? Nope.

I’m not sure when the next contest will be, but I hope more of you come out. It is a good time and a great way to challenge yourself on some of the most awesomest riding in the world (and it happens to be in our back yard).

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.

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.

If you really want to make cycling difficult, sometimes it takes some preparation. I suggest that you start the night before. Remember, nobody likes a procrastinator. So check your forecast. If you see that a day that you have off from work is going to be amazingly beautiful, the night before that day you start to party.

Now everything is best in moderation, so it goes to be moderate with your moderation and have a good time. Even better, if you can fit 2-3 parties into the night, better yet. It is also advised that on this night of ruckous behaviour, you should stay up at least five hours later than you normally do. This just adds to the difficulty. You may say that lack of sleep is over the top. Well, my response to that is, do you wanna live your entire life doing things half-ass? Didn’t think so.

Now that the night is passed and morning is upon us breaking with a bright, shiny sun, you have to make sure that you have the fortitude to stay the course. Many a lesser human being, when presented with the task you have taken upon yourself would shrink back into bed not to emerge until the next day. But nay, you must drag yourself out and start to learn to balance with the cobwebs weighing down your thought processes. This essential to actually being able to ride your bike which happens to be impossible when stuck on your backside in bed.

The next steps are easy and tend to fall into place once you have made the effort the night before, but in the interest of providing a complete guide I will enumerate them for you.

1. Remove your cycling shoes from the car. If you really want to go over the top, make sure the shoes you do wear to the trailhead have an extremely soft sole.

2. Plan a ride that consists of driving for about 1 hour and about 45 minutes of actually riding.

3. When leaving the trailhead, leave your water in the car. You are already dehydrated why try to change that now…

The key to all of this is really making sure that none of your riding buddies know what is going on because they will try in every way to keep you from ruining your ride. A lot of, “Oh Shit! I left my shoes at home.” and, “Well, kids I left my water in the car, I guess I better turn around at the shortcut.” These phrases are necessary to keep them off your back. Even though you in fact are going to ride the whole damn trail with every pedal stroke of pain.

This is how, if you follow the plan correctly, it should look.

In closing, I would recommend that you don’t take your own camera on such an effort like this one, so it is necessary to steal the photos from someone else just like I have done here. I also suggest giving credit where credit is due. All photos were “borrowed” from Fixie Dave. If you would like to see more of him, go here.

If you have any questions, please hesitate to ask.

As a reminder, we will be doing another night ride this Wednesday at 9 pm. Meet at the Navajo trailhead. We will do some sort of conglomeration of Stucki and the Poppy trail with connectors added as needed.

P. L. and R.