Bro, Do You Even RetroMod?

Now that I have all my late-winter smug bitchiness out of my system, here’s something nice: The Aberration

“Aberration” is not necessarily a positively connoted word. But it is the name some egg gave my old Raleigh XXIX (maybe he was referring to me?). And things need names.

It’s the bike I’m most interested in riding at this point in late winter, when everybody just wants to get out, when it’s too cold for fast road riding and too muddy for trails.

It’s, dare I say, just right for gravel** (see note below).

It started off like this:

2007, singlespeed, steel frame, 29 inch wheels at the beginning of the 29er revolution

Then it started turning into something else:

Notice the carbon fork and mismatched wheelset (which was fine with me, but horrified my friends). Not sure what happened to the PBR waterbottle or my svelte figure and matching shoulders.

Then the frame cracked, but it got warrantied quickly. Unfortunately, the replacement came in robin’s egg blue, which I got painted a manly UPS brown. It sat for awhile watching as I acquired these:

  • Trek 69er (Trek’s early stab at a mullet)
  • Scott Scale (shoulda kept it)
  • Trek Stache (kept it)
  • Knolly Warden (really shoulda kept it)
  • Santa Cruz Hightower (spent more $ than I ever thought I would on a bike)
  • Chromag Rootdown (now that the fork has been serviced, it rides like it was designed to)
  • Vitus road bike (yes. a road bike. and yes, I wear lycra tights. go screw yourself. just don’t hit me)

Then I looked at the Aberration one day a couple of years ago, and the wheels started turning, Gears and new handlebars and shazam!! A new bike!

Now it is a droopy bar, cranky old fuck, like me.

I can take it just about anywhere, and it’s the oldest bike I own.

It’s got:

  • Vittoria Mezcal 2.3 tires, which are quickly becoming cliche according to the COGnoscenti.
  • WTB wheelset, probably too narrow for the tires but they’ve been working fine so far!
  • Recently handed-down rigid aluminum fork (who even rides an aluminum fork? Hey, it was free!) that replaced a 10+ year old, never-serviced RockShox suspension fork
  • Road BB7s (best brake ever made)
  • PNW Coast handlebars, although I just saw these
  • Bontrager stem, age and origin unknown
  • Handlebar pads made out of slices of 1/4 inch sleeping pad. No need for suspension now!!
  • Revelate frame bag which holds all the Athletic Brewing I could possibly need for a ride (how about a sponsorship, Athletic Brewing? Maybe just a discount? Sobriety aint cheap!)
  • Old, rusty, serviceable brake rotor

The Aberration in a slightly older iteration:

  • Seized Thomsen seatpost, which remains seized
  • SRAM Apex doubletap drivetrain (I think)
  • Crappy old saddle
  • Crappy old SPD pedals recently upgraded to these with my REI dividends, cause I’m bougie and just don’t care
  • 40mm Ramblers on which I ate shit
  • Truvativ Crankset, which if you look closely, is the only remaining part in this ghost of a machine

Now that I’m done virtue signaling, what’s the takeaway? Well…

I could have been this guy. But if steel is real, then so is my rust!

Or I could’ve bought this because I’m retired and rich:

Even Canyon, LeBron’s favorite mail-order-bride bike company, has jumped on the hamster wheel:

The Canyon Spectral

Hell, I even remember Brandon Le talking with the Chromag guy in Whistler about how some people were creating a rust patina finish on their frames.

I guess it’s true: what goes ’round, comes ’round. Now, even road rides have to be disguised as gravel rides.

Everybody has an old frame hanging on the wall, and some people are resurrecting them. I’m part of that stereotype, bro. And it’s ok. You’re ok. We’re all ok.

It would just be nice if I had some gravel to ride on.

**Sometimes my friends and I are forced to “explore” the gravel roads and paths of Hinckley and the Cuyahoga Valley since it’s illegal to ride anywhere besides pavement in most of our parks.

In Michigan it takes about five minutes to find gravel roads, but in uptight Ohio you’ll get a ticket or worse for venturing off designated mountain bike trails or pavement.

So if you see me or my friends rambling on a “exploratory ride,” please aim high and trust that we’ll be gone without a trace.

Or maybe we’ll just stick around.

Give ‘er the Beans!!

Annoying Things Mountainbikers Say…(I won’t make any friends with this post)

Just listened to the latest Pisgah Podcast and heard a familiar voice: Local Northeast Ohio Legend Mike Colonna, who is now a Pisgah Local Legend. Hopefully, we’ll read more about Mike in an upcoming post. One of the guests on the podcast, some dude from Santa Cruz bikes, used the term “give ‘er the beans.” It was the second time I’ve heard that term used lately. So I looked up its origin because I’m a big nerd.

All I got was this: An Irish term that means “hit the gas” or “give it a full blast effort.”

Such as:

Should I chug this pint of fine beer?

“Give ‘er the beans, bud!”

Should I smash this prick’s windshield?

“Yes. Give ‘er the beans!”

To a fat guy on a Rockhopper climbing the first hill at Mohican:

“Give ‘er the fucking beans, man!!”

Ok, that last one was a little mean.

Anyway, I’m gonna give ‘er the ol’ beans and bitch for a few seconds about words I’m a little tired of hearing.

  • Whilst: it’s while.
  • Yew!: you know, what a bro yells at a bro who just stuck a two-foot drop. Unlike that old guy who looked at my shoulder after I didn’t stick a two-foot drop at Austin Badger, which probably sounded more like “Ewwww!”
  • Always satisfies: Blue Knob always satisfies. Satisfies what? Your Blue Knob?
  • Never disappoints: Blue Knob never disappoints….that CAMBA chick who looked like Dee Snider????
  • That was mean, too. But she did.
  • Zone: it’s actually just an area, a network, a region, a trail system. “Bro, let’s hit the Medina zone.” Pro tip: we live in Ohio, not the Yukon.
  • Down country: I actually like this because SO many people hate it and I have oppositional defiance syndrome. I was born with it. SO satisfying.
  • Shred: Here’s an idea: everyone in your exclusive local riding club should have a Strava name with some variation of the word “shred” in it, like “Shreddy Van Halen” or “Shreddy Fender” or “Prince Shredward.” True story.
  • Slay: It’s ok in my book to say, “We’re gonna slay East Rim tonight, then sit in the parking lot and get drunk.” You know, like that irreverent GWAR song.
  • I guess it’s also ok to Mash and Shralp. I can still mash the singlespeed…a little. Last time I tried to Shralp, though, I nearly shralped in my pants.
  • Group ride: supplied by my disgruntled son Adam who only rides by himself now. But he’s right. I dare you to try to organize a group ride. Go ahead, make God laugh. You’ll have to charge people $45 and call it a gravel ride.
  • Ya’ll: the good old boy from Southeastern Fly Fishing can say that. He’s from the south and he knows where the fish are. You’re from Colorado. And probably really from Ohio originally.
  • Fer sure: Man, my dumbass high school friend was saying that way back in the late 70s, and he got a D- in English class.
  • Yeah: people use this word at the beginning of sentences as much as my Bosnian friend Denza uses the word “fuck” as a comma. “Yeah” should never be confused with “Oh yeah, yeah, yeah!” which is the sincerest form of commiseration you can get from The Rik.
  • Bentonville: Bentonvile.
  • Collective: I want to be in a collective, so I can drive my $150k Mercedes Sprinter van to Garretsville, Ohio for a road ride. “Program” was getting a little annoying there for awhile, too.
  • Sick: Telling people that you’ll clean out their Beverly Hills pool so you can skateboard it is sick. Riding East Rim Phase 2 counterclockwise is not sick.
  • Rad: I might lose friends over this one. I’ll just keep it out of my mouth.
  • Goodness: That triple hopped quadruple IPA has SO much foamy goodness! My Athletic Brew has SO much foamy goodness! My AG1 has SO much foamy goodness! SO epic!
  • Bits: My testicles are my bits. My stem is, well, my stem. My crank is down to about 165mm these days.
  • Stoked: I’m SO stoked to do some shuttle runs at Jake’s Rocks with ya’ll!
  • Technical gravel: so bring a freakin’ mountain bike!!!!
  • Shenanigans: reminds me of my Spokejunkies days at Blue Knob with Dee Snider
  • Goon Squad: we should just let the old-guys-riding-dirtbikes crew fully adopt this one
  • Zwofting: the sound your ass makes when you decide not to lift off the saddle when farting
  • How about Fair Enough? A multi-tool expression: It can indicate oppositional defiance or good-natured agreement. “I’m gonna take your picture because you’re riding a muddy trail.” “Fair enough!” Or “I’m not gonna get shit-faced on the ride tonight.” “Fair enough!”

SO lastly, Snookium. Now there’s a fresh word with genuine meaning. My friends coined it to describe the grime and goo, slime, funk and general filth that I scrape off my bits after a year or so of shredding. It never disappoints, fer sure! Yeeeww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Snookium. Otherwise known as the chili I spilled on my shoe at the Road Apple Roubaix. Custom-cut high-viz roadie spats available on the travelswithpops webstore.

Amish are Annoying

Thoughts on the Road Apple Roubaix

  • Amish just stare at you as you ride by. I know what they are thinking: “We ride bikes, too, but we aren’t miserable as we’re doing it”
  • How many freaking Amish are there in Geauga County??????? I think they know something we don’t.
  • If you need ice in Geauga County, just stop by one of the many ice machines in front of select Amish farms
  • Don’t pull out in front of an Amish buggy. The Amish are a vengeful breed, and they can fucking haul ass!
  • That horse laying stiff in the sun behind the Amish barn was experiencing the next level beyond miserable.
  • I wasn’t actually miserable despite the fact that I rode the Aberration, my “gravel bike.” RidewithGPS don’t lie: 70% paved. And that’s a conservative estimate.
  • It’s a road ride, folks.
  • But if you want to see all the latest expensive gravel bike stuff, show up at the RAR next year.
  • Good to see The Rik and Mike ($160 ticket is just bullshit) and Tim Si and Matt O.
  • Be careful when you gesticulate while holding a bowl of chili. It might just end up all over you.
  • Perfect group/event ride. Adam dropped me within minutes at the start, which I expected. I got to ride at my own pace and push things for about 3 hours, but not too hard. And we all ended up in the same place and got to shoot the shit.
  • Conclusion: no matter how they promote it as scenic tour of the gravel roads of Geauga County….it’s a road ride.
Sledgehammer when a toothpick would’ve worked nicely
Pro tip: don’t ask the local high school cross country team if they’re handing out beer at their aid station. They’ll look at you like they’re Amish.
The day was not lost: A cool house I saw along the way. Perfect design for our Up North cottage.

TRAVELS WITH SUPAI

The waterfall that my dog Supai was named after, recently discovered by Beyonce

All things converged last weekend, so I figured it was time again to engage in that duty dance of hope and frustration called fishing. I had recently blown? wasted? invested? $400 on an advanced form of torture called a centerpin fly rod so that I could catch a steelhead in an Ohio river. And the Vermilion was waiting.

I had caught two steelhead on long, bitterly cold, guided float trips in northern Michigan on the Big Manistee, but I had heard that fishermen can sometimes catch 10-15 steelhead on good days in Ohio’s “Steelhead Alley.” So why not go where the fish are?

WHERE THE NOT-SO-WILD THINGS ARE Curiously, all the steelhead that swim up the rivers in Steelhead Alley of northeast Ohio- the Vermillion, Rocky, Chagrin, Ashtabula, Conneaut, Elk Creek in PA, and now apparently, even the Cuyahoga – come from the eggs harvested at the collection facility just down the road from our place Up North near Manistee, Michigan.

A cranky old lady in her natural environment

SKUNKED AGAIN So Supe and I spent the early afternoon hiking along the Vermilion, then I drifted a couple of nice runs. The water was chocolatey and high, and I didn’t catch anything, but I got a lot of good practice, as they say.

Then it was time to find Chance Creek…and this:

From Thomas Sherman’s “A Place on the Glacial Till” a natural history of northern Ohio

WE TOOK A CHANCE It wasn’t easy to find Chance Creek on maps, but I reckoned we could access it at the end of a dead end road. Behold, we found this sign and a parking lot with a trailhead that led down to the main Vermilion.

I bought Sherman’s book when I was in college, and apparently, I actually read it since it has my notes in it, although so much time has passed that I can’t recall writing them now. I found it recently on my bookshelf, and decided to give it another read. Dense and esoteric in parts, but more often a compelling lens on the layers and complexity of our familiar local landscape, Sherman, a professor at Oberlin, weaves personal anecdotes about the Vermilion watershed with scholarly dives into the forces that shaped its flora, fauna, and original human inhabitants.

After a bit of meandering, slogging, and a steep climb back out of the gorge, we found the old road that leads down to the mouth of Chance Creek.

Then there it was:

Supe “contemplating the conjunction of worlds and the flow of time“ on Sherman’s ledge, with the vermilion walls in the distance

Nothing overly spectacular, except it was. Kinda cool to find the exact place I had read about. A nice place to hang out for awhile and enjoy the late winter sun. So we did.

Chance Creek as it cuts through time

The next day, while stopping for a break on our first Mohican loop of the year, Egg and I looked down from the ridge near the end of the mountain bike trail and noticed a fisherman far below, entering the Clearfork of the Mohican River. “He won’t catch anything,” I proclaimed like a skunk. Of course, not more than five minutes later, he lured a trout from the the woodsnarl just downstream.

AN OBSERVATION If mountain biking is its own reward, then fishing at least teaches you something every time, whether you catch a fish or not. Unbeknownst to the fisherman, he had revealed to me the golden nugget coveted by all fisherman: where the fish are. Or at least one of them.

But sometimes (most of the time?) it’s not about the catch.

A CONCLUSION If Karen is my wonderful, lovely wife, then Supai is my “old lady” and I’m her “old man.” She ignores me most of the time and I’m nice to her every once in awhile. We’ve been quite a few places together and she’s a trooper. When the time comes someday, we’ll probably spread her ashes at the base of Havasupai Falls. Maybe some at Sherman’s ledge, too.

Checkout my son’s guest “appearance” on this podcast: The Consequence of Habit with Adam Snook

Doing All the Funs in the MNW

I COINED MNW Some Michiganders call it the Upper Lower. Most call it Up North. It’s kind of a unique cultural/geographical phenomenon. One thing is for certain: You don’t want to get caught in a traffic jam of people either going to or coming home from Up North. Although I’ll never be a native like my wife, and I’ll always remain a FOP (Fucking Ohio Person, which fortunately is slightly less evil than a FIP) in the locals’ minds, I feel like Karen and I have established some roots Up North near Ludington/Manistee/Wellston.

Perfect conditions for RustyNutz on the North Country Trail
Miles and miles of forest two-track in the Huron-Manistee National Forest

PODCASTS AND AUDIOBOOKS So last weekend, we planned an extendo stay and did the six hour drive (for me) and the three hour drive (for my wife) to our little piece of heaven. Everyday was busy: mountain biking, kayaking, XC skiing, hiking.

We’ve taken to kayaking in the winter on a short stretch of the Little Manistee River that we like. The Pine River, Pere Marquette, Big Sauble, Big Manistee, and Bear Creek (one of Hemingway’s favorites) are a short drive away. Plus plenty of inland lakes, and the Big Lake, Old Michigan.

A FORTUNATE FIND We own two acres abutting national forest land (which we also kinda own!), with the North Country Trail as our back property line. We have good neighbors in the vicinity who keep an eye on things when we’re not there, and privacy enough to let our dogs roam the property.

I arrived early, opened up camp, and took a spin on the NCT as it bisects the Big M Recreation Area.

I’M A LUCKY MOUNTAINBIKER Big M, home to the Lumberjack 100 endurance mountain bike race, is a short pedal away, and contains about 30 miles of singletrack and a network of forest service roads. The local XC ski club grooms about 15 miles of track in the winter. Plenty o’ fun to be had.

A set of tracks I followed on my ride. Couldn’t identify them. Plenty of bear, bobcats and supposedly mountain lions in the area, but I’ve never had an encounter. We did, however, have a bear on the property last year!

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Even though I’ve learned my way around Big M over the years, I always get lost in the beauty and silence.

A SECRET PLACE We always jump at the chance to go XC skiing, and we were lucky enough to be able to ski out to Timmerman Lake, a beautiful, serene, undeveloped kettle lake in the middle of the national forest, approachable only by a two-track that Karen found one day while hiking.

Timmerman Lake is a local secret, but I’ll tell you it’s an incredible place to kayak in the summer and hike in the winter…if you can find it.
Seems like the snow fleas always choose bluebird days to make an appearance.
Forest service roads are the best.
All you can hear is the sound of crashing waves from Lake Michigan in the distance.

MICROCLIMATE We decided to do a hike up to an unusual place we call the Blowdown. Around 2007-08, a big storm came off the lake and produced flooding and micro-bursts along the coast and few miles inland (one of which resulted in the clearing of many of the trees on our property). This particular dune ridge looks down on one side into a valley that was leveled of trees. We’ve watched it slowly grow back year by year and always check on a particular beech tree that broke off halfway up and stood above the desolation.

The hole from whence all snow fleas in the world emerge. Kinda freaky.

CSABA BITES THE CHUPACABRA Csaba, our German Shepherd, loves to go on bike rides to the river and back. But this day, we decided to take all three dogs out to a place we appropriately call Night Hawk Hill.

The newest member of our pack, Little, rescued from the streets of Detroit. A pain in the ass and a heart of gold.
Second growth trees during a hike on our last morning to the remains of the old downhill ski runs at Big M. The resort closed in the early 70s.

A LITTLE HISTORY:

BOONE’S FARM AND SOLAR SHOWERS When we first met, Karen took me to one of her favorite places, Lake Michigan Recreation Area, a true gem. Look it up. We spent quite a bit of time over the next few years primitive camping along Green Road, naming our favorite campsite Whippoorwill Hill because of the sometime annoying but always enchanting songs that would surround us at night.

Working on The Aberration’s dick brake. Didn’t even really need the bug net that day!

30 MINUTES, ACCORDING TO KAREN Once we purchased the property, which is about a 20 minute drive to the Lake Michigan beaches and a short walk to the Little Manistee, we bought a frame tent and erected it on the concrete pad the previous owners installed for their RV.

GLAMPERS GOTTA GLAMP Since the previous owners had installed an electric hook up, well and septic system on the property, we basically had everything we needed.

Even though the local Finnish population is big on their saunas, I believe an outdoor shower is mandatory for proper living.

AND MOSQUITOES We had some really fun years in the frame tent, but after enduring a couple of scary storms, it was time to upgrade, so we bought a 30 foot RV and named it The Behemoth. Serendipitously, it made the perfect retreat during Covid. (By the way, mosquitoes love me like a hobo loves a ham sandwich. Oddly, Karen doesn’t get bit by mosquitoes — her only flaw.)

A bear with tired arms, and our natural gateway to the NCT, framed by a couple of surviving blowdown trees.
The game plan is to build something like this in the next few years. Around 1000 square feet with a guest bedroom…

We always feel a certain pang when it’s time to pack up and leave. As always, the fun could’ve lasted a few more days…or more.

FRESH LIKE AN EBIKE

LIKE YOU, I’ve been trying to take advantage of this oddly warm February weather. And maybe like you, not only have I’ve been feeling that typical mid-winter lack of motivation, but I’m also…I’ll just say it out loud…REALLY BORED with the typical places and routes I’ve ridden over the last few years.

ARE WE MEN OR MICE? So after a well-made plan to do a Cleveland urban assault fell apart as quickly as it came together, I jumped at the chance when Egg, the Ride Incubator, hatched an idea to join Mike J. for a ride from his house near New Franklin, west of the Akron/Canton metroplex. (More on Mike later – he’s a real deal OG whose Wanted poster once allegedly appeared on the CVNP Rangers office wall.) Mike dropped from the scene for quite a while but recently, he’s been getting back into riding and he does some cool stuff down by Portage Lakes.

The “new” in New Franklin sounded like the perfect antidote to the burnout crouching on my horizon.

I self-rescued from this unusual spillway at Nimisila Reservoir

A BUNCH OF TOOLS: Mike J led me, The Rik, and Egg on a tour of the upper Tuscarawas River Valley then the Nimisila Reservoir and Portage Lakes Area. Nimisila Reservoir: very cool, bald eagles and ospreys and such. A new-to-me oasis. It was nice to tool around Portage Lakes, drink a beer and shoot the shit. Reminded me of cruising around the suburban lakes of SE Michigan.

DEUS EX MACHINA: the exact same doggy brush that my wife uses on our dogs. Wot are the odds?
So The Rik decided to use it on Egg. It was a happy grooming.

Thirty five miles and 1600 feet of climbing felt just right on a sunny 50 degree day in February.

SO THE NEXT DAY, after seeing the brutski gravel route Paul M. and Matt O. did in the hills of north central Ohio, I decided it was time for a good ol’ solo ride with navigation. I converted their 50 mile, 5000 ft route into a shorter 30 mile 3500 ft. route starting in Killbuck. Peaceful, quiet, meditative climbing (the climb out of Glenmont is particularly ball-busting). But the Stache’s meaty beaty big and bouncy 2.8 Rekon up front left me picking bugs out of my teeth on the hairball “technical gravel” descents.

SPEAKING OF NEW: The recently installed PNW Rainier Gen3 dropper passed the test winningly.

THREE THOUGHTS:

#1 I would have ridden my “gravel bike” (which is really no more than my original 29er circa 2005 made new by converting it to drop bars) but alas, it is sadly, embarrassingly, and unfashionably devoid of this: Coast Suspension. Probably my next purchase — if I can get the seat post unseized.

#2: Once my headphones took a shit around mile 10, and I could no longer listen to turn-by-turn directions from Ridewith GPS, I was left to stop at most intersections and check the route visually on my phone (which I do not have mounted to my handlebars). For years, I have resisted plopping down $300 for a Garmin, a tool I thought I would only use on infrequent rides such as this. But with retirement and more rides such as this also crouching on the horizon, the lure of Lezyne’s well-reviewed cycling gps unit is becoming tastier and tastier.

#3: Dude blows by me on a dirt bike at about mile 20. He looks like he’s having fun. Honestly, I am too. But so does Jeff Jones in this video posted recently on BikeSnobNYC:

Not only is Jones on a 29+, but the video is from 2021, and the motor on his prototype is removable – worthy of a Zwift thumbs-up flurry. QUESTION: How much more fun would I have had with a little kick in the pants on some of those climbs?? The jury in my mind is closer and closer to rendering a verdict.

EXCEPT…with its mud pits and goo, an ebike wouldn’t have helped in this ^^ particular section of the route. (note the cool 29+ bike). All in all, the Killbuck/Glenmont area is a nice new alternative to the typical gravel routes out of Mohican.

A FINAL NOTE: I’m up to a whopping 2 subscribers! And just surpassed 1000 views! Although I have been accused of being an Influencer, I assure you I’m just doing this for fun. Nevertheless, thanks to Bill M. and my lovely wife for allegedly reading this thing. I’m seriously thinking, though, about pinching off the monthly fee to try to get rid of the ads for dick pills and belly fat cures.

LOCAL LEGEND Brandon Le, the Most Interesting Man in the Parking Lot

Pondering a full sandwich in Pemberton BC

Brandon Le, aka Dirty Drifts, is known in northeast Ohio, Southern California, and world-wide as one of the most likeable people you’ll ever meet. As far as mountain biking and snowboarding go, he’s literally been there and done that.

But he won’t tell you.

If the Rik and Egg and MCFlow know everybody there is to know in the mountain biking world, Brandon knows them and everyone else, too.

But he won’t brag about it.

Johnny Depp posing as Cool Breeze Le (photo by The Rik)

Full Disclosure: I was……miffed at Brandon for awhile because, in a moment of classic Pops grumpiness, I blamed him for not taking care of my dog on a trip to Durango. He’s certainly put up with his share of my shit:

  • That time in Whistler BC when I left him a slightly nasty voicemail because I thought he had shown up in town before me and wasn’t doing anything to find us a place to stay for the night. Turns out that he was actually still driving and that I had arrived in town first.
  • That time he ordered a full greasy chicken dinner just before we were going to ride the classic Guacamole Trail in Hurricane, Utah.
  • I could go on and on.

I’m sure he could, too. But he probably wouldn’t. After all, he’s dealt with tougher things in his life than some cranky old fuck being mad at him.

That time we ate McDonald’s for breakfast everyday in St. George, Utah

BUT…I could also go on and on about our adventures together:

  • Brevard/Roanoke/Massanutten
  • St. George/Hurricane
  • Fernie/Nelson/Whistler, British Columbia then Bellingham, Washington
  • a big Colorado loop with Cousin Dan
  • more Colorado then up to Whitefish, Montana
  • still more Colorado
  • U.P. Michigan trip in there somewhere
  • Plus all the other trips he’s been on with everybody else
Just another mountain vista with Cousin Dan, Yoshi and Supai near Nederland CO

A STORY:

Speaking of putting up with shit, there was that one time during the big Colorado loop with Cousin Dan when we were camped outside of Salida. We had previously ridden the trails at Nederland and Buffalo Springs, and we were getting an early start for our drive to Crested Butte, after having ridden the Monarch Crest CT section the day before. Now, this was The Notorious Yoshi’s first trip and everybody was learning. Before we left, I decided to pinch one off, and walked up into the hillside undergrowth. I didn’t realize Yoshi had followed me until about mid-performance. I knew, as responsible dog owner, that as a dog, Yosh might want to sample/luxuriate in what I had just deposited, so I shooshed him away and told him to go back to camp. Which I thought he did. Turns out that he waited for me to finish and walk away, and then he did what dogs do. Back at camp, Yoshi couldn’t be found, so Brandon called for him and he jumped into Brandon’s Tacoma and everybody started the drive toward Gunnison in their own vehicles. Not long into the drive, Brandon texted me that Yosh must have rolled in shit or something and he absolutely reeked. I thought for a few minutes before texting him back, and came to the following realizations: a) what Brandon was smelling was actually MY shit, and b) that telling him would just make the experience more unpleasant, so I decided to have a heart and spare him the horror. Needless to say, it was a long drive to Gunnison, with Brandon raging to Yosh about how bad he smelled and poor Yosh pressed as hard as he could up against the passenger door. I felt bad but fortunately, the incredible scenery distracted me. In Gunnison, Brandon took Yosh to a doggy boutique for a bath, and I toured the cool little downtown, stopping by Double Shot Coffee and Bike Shop (probably and unknowingly talking to one of the Gods of Mountain Biking, Jefe Branham, who works there).

All in all, I thought things turned out pretty well for everybody!

(Not sure how long I let that one go before I actually told Brandon the truth)

Fernie, Nelson and Kamloops BC

BUT…those trips are but a footnote in Brandon’s extensive journeys throughout the world. For example, I once sat in wonder as he and our friend Matt talked late into the night about navigating the cities of Southeast Asia.

Get this guy going sometime (if you can) about the places he’s been, the things he’s seen, the people he’s met. You’ll be amazed at an incredible life.

I supplied the rolls at Brandon’s Farewell Ride 2.0, North Fork Mountain WV (photo by Paul Miles)

Without too many words, here’s a few “Best Of” lists and plenty of pictures to document the cool life of my friend Brandon Le:

Favorite Bikes:

#1: “I love my steel Ritchey hardtail”

#2: Ibis Ripmo

#3: “One of my first bikes, a Gary fisher superfly singlespeed that I raced the 2012 Mohican 100k on” 

Ripmo-ing Bellingham, moments after a Jeff Kendall Weed sighting
Rubber Duck Tree, Las Vegas (photo by Andy White)
Werewolves of Wellston, Michigan

Favorite trips:

#1 Solo trip to western Europe to snowboard in the Dolomites and Julien alps. Ended up staying for months.

#2 Canadian Whistler trip. That was awesome. The Canadian Rockies made me cry.  

#3 New Zealand for a month. Probably some of my fav trails I’ve ever ridden.

 

Fruita, CO
Lunch Loops, Grand Junction CO with Matt Downing and Ryan Holmstrom
Whitefish, Montana
2Ton30Inch Induction: Greatest moment of Brandon’s life

Allegedly, Brandon’s favorite songs from the 80s:

#1 Come on Eileen #2 Eye of the Tiger #3 Total Eclipse of the Heart

Crested Butte: Two Doctor Parks and a Teocalli in those legs, then a Deadman’s Gulch
Brown County, Indiana
Gooseberry Mesa, Hurricane UT, prior to the legendary greasy chicken dinner
Sidewinder, St. George UT
Doctor Park, Crested Butte CO (photo by Matt Downing)
(photos by Egg)
(photos by Brent Forrer)
Paul’s snapped handlebar at Vulture’s Knob, Ohio (photo by Charlie Mason)
Triple Trail Challenge in Michigan (photo by Charlie Mason)
Double rainbow on the Tucson Trail (photo by Andy White)
Pushing on the Kokopelli Trail (photo by Andy White)
Kokopelli Trail (photo by Brent Forrer)
Hanging out at All Around Cyclery (photo by Brent Forrer)

Favorite Cars:  

#1 1982 Porsche 911. Driving this in SoCal along the coast is a dream.  I love the 80s!

#2 My Toyota 4runner since it’s taken Me and Yosh to so many cool places. 

#3 1984 Datson truck 4×4 since crazy things happen in your first car.

Brandon’s local beach now that he’s finally escaped Ohio

BIKES

Winter Gear: Just Go, Man

So I made three New Year’s Resolutions: give books another chance (since that’s what I’ve made my living from over the last three decades), do another Dry January, and do more riding in cold weather.

If you know winter, and riding bikes is part of who you are, you know that getting all geared up to ride in the the winter is a royal pain in the ass. Which is why I Zwift. Which BTW is an incredibly good workout. Which is slightly less abominable than riding an Ebike. But, ultimately, which also locks me into an artificial world that….well, more on the Zwift thing in an upcoming post. Let’s just say I promised myself that I’d suck it up and ride outside whenever I could this winter.

Afterall, sometimes winter riding yields this:

The peace that comes dropping slow on the North Country Trail, a few minutes from our place in Northern Michigan

So I was pleasantly surprised when the young lady at the bookstore counter gushed that Jody Rosen’s Two Wheels Good devotes a paragraph or two to winter riding and “will make you want to ride your bike.”

Turns out that Rosen is plumb amazed that people ride in the winter. Also turns out that Two Wheels Good is everything about bikes that you probably didn’t want to know or could have Googled yourself, if you’ve been riding bikes for more than a couple of years. I’ll go all retro-grouchy about Two Wheels in yet another upcoming post. Now, on to the point, Pops, and without further ado!

Beaming fool at Proud Lake, Michigan. Wait a minute, I thought he lives in Ohio?

#1 The Head

The head is the smokestack, and although I rarely ride without ending up with a sweaty head, my beloved Carharts hat always keeps the noggin warm (I’ve been tempted to cut some ventilations holes in the top, though). A Buff underneath sometimes helps keep the ears protected, and for coolativity, add one around the neck. Anything warmer than 50 degrees and I’ll just go with a doubled up Buff under the helmet; anything below 20 degrees and I’ll start thinking about going full-on balaclava. But there’s no helmet in the pic, Pops! I refer you to Bikesnob NYC for the definitive answer. Given my history, I probably should’ve been wearing shoulder pads, anyway. Suffice it to say: I take it slow in the winter.

#2 The Torso

The belly is the furnace. Of course layers. Of course breathable fabrics, but sometimes a good old windbreaker. And I’ve found that a cheap cycling vest works as both middle layer or sometimes an outer layer. Here’s a tip: Partially unzipping my middle layer provides a good vent for the build up of heat on my chest. Then, I zip the outer layer up or down for wind protection as needed. The temperature in the above picture was about 20 degrees, and I decided to flip the process cause I’m adaptable like the dog in To Build a Fire. I’m wearing a long sleeve inner layer, a Patagonia Fleece and a black breathable jacket to soak up the sun’s glory.

Sometimes, though, it’s the HiViz Life for me:

The HiViz Life: I assure you: that’s a hip pack that I slid around in front

#3 The hands

I’m Going to Reveal a Secret: Black Diamond Windweight gloves.  Apparently, you didn’t hear it here first because REI keeps an entire rack of them. I wear them anywhere from 15-20 degrees all the way up to the 50s. So versatile, so fine. A sauna for the fingers. In a distant second place are SSG’s 10 Below, gloves that my wife and I found at a tack shop for riding horses in cold weather. Of course, I’ve accumulated a vast and senseless array of gloves for all occasions and conditions, but for winter riding, I always go back to the Black Diamonds. Their only downside is that they make it hard to give the finger to an asshole motorist.

The arsenal

#4 The legs

I’m Going to Reveal Another Secret: leg warmers. They rule. I know from hard-won experience: like you, I’ve had bouts of IT Band soreness that sometimes crop up mid-ride. I’ve found that not only do leg warmers keep the joints warm (more on that in a bit), they also have miraculously eliminated my IT Band issues on long, cold rides. Listen to me now, believe me later. Lined pants below freezing, tights (the cheap kind from TJ Maxx, but make sure they’re flexy around the ankles) above and into the 50s.

Yes, I know: the cut-off shorts are just a little too cool, but at least the tights cover all my hipster leg tattoos.

#5 The feet

And Now for the Biggest Secret of All: Socks with toes cut out. Recently, Mike Kazimer from Pinkbike suggested that the origin of cold fingers is cold wrists, and he advocates cutting a slot in a wristband and inserting a chemical handwarmer, because the blood travelling to the fingers is so near to the surface of the skin at the wrists. I’m a believer — at least as that theory is applied to cold feet. Blood is cooled at the ankles, then makes for cold tootsies. Forget heavy, expensive winter riding boots, forget toe covers, forget plastic bags, forget shoe covers.

I’m feel warm and happy just looking at them

Instead, take a pair of heavy socks and cut off the toes. Pull these over your favorite pair of warm socks. Then place a toe warmer OVER and slightly wrapped around the toes. Guaranteed toe toastiness.

The Lakes gather dust and, oddly, some acorns. The cheapo Specialized with toe covers glued on them now serve only as shoulder season shoes. Flat pedals and hiking shoes are the only way to roll, but not nearly as alliterative.

And finally…

#6 The bike

The Only Good Reason for an Ebike or a Fatbike. Not bad for $1800. But the Stache, with big ol’ 2.8 Maxxis Rekons, is, as they say, ALL YOU NEED. I bought the Stache when 29+ bikes were cool, and I’m keeping it even though 29+ (and me) are no longer cool. The original Chupacabras were the best tire ever made, and it’s good to know that Surly still sells the Knard. But then there’s my beloved Rusty Nutz, the Ultimate Up North Ice Road Trucker:  

The name RustyNutz relates directly to the subtitle of this blog. Rusty has been ridden hard and put away wet a couple of times.
Rusty’s cold steel studs will crush your winter will.
I’m plumb amazed that people would resort to tying zipties to their tires and then be equally plumb amazed that they starting plinking off within minutes on the first ride.

Dude from Two Wheels Good apparently thinks it’s the most novel thing that people resort to putting studs on their tires (he also writes about bikes as sex toys, and he believes his derailleur sings sweet poetry to him or some weird shit). Anyway, I’m gonna keep reading it, mostly because I wasted $30 bucks, and I need to fill in some beer drinking time. I hope you stay warm out there!

Winter riding from Cousin Dan’s neck of the woods.

FISH

Although it has nothing to do with fish other than the central character is probably now swimming with them, Ben McGrath’s Riverman is a book I find hard to peel from my not-cold, not-dead hands. Kind of an Into the Wild mystery about a guy who was into rivers. I always thought that Chris McCandless might still be alive today had he discovered mountain biking.

Next up: Local Legend Brandon Le

DRY FEBRUARY

Dry January went so well, that I think I’m extending it for a month…and maybe more. That sentiment is not going to make me any friends. It’s kinda like asking somebody if they want to hear all about your divorce.

But seriously, I think I’m done with drinking alcohol.

My wife and I went out to eat with our family last weekend to celebrate a relatives’ hard-won sobriety and our four full weeks without alcohol. I had not one but two drinks, then eventually a third. The first drink went immediately to my head. Which made me order a second drink. Then it was time for an apre Moscow Mule and the drive home. Then the old paranoia set in of looking in the rearview mirror all the way home, and the buzz that ruined the mental clarity that I had really gotten used to and appreciate.

But the guilt of giving in and going back? I don’t have to deal with it. Plenty of other worries fill my 59-year-old brain.

All the wonderfully enticing colors of the beer cave just turn me off now.

The bite of ginger ale, or orange juice, lime and water does the trick.

I just wish Athletic Brewing didn’t coast as much as a six pack of craft beer.