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The Minutia of the Indiana Jones Trail

The day after my 50th run down Indiana Jones. I met up for some laps with Aki and inevitably, I made lap number 51 down Indy. I just can't get enough of this run.  For me, it takes everything I've learned about climbing and riding single track, stirs it up with everything I've learned about drops, jumps and freeride, and spills it out in one two-minute run down a gully. Aki suggested that I might know the trail better than anyone. I don't know if that's true. I tend to think that when pro racers are blasting down the trail they are seeing details I wouldn't ever consider. The trail must feel completely different at 20 mph compared to 12.  No, I don't know Indy better than anyone, but I know it enough to have my opinions on it. And I know a little history about it's evolution. So let's begin at the beginning. The initial roll-in. I'll just say it, the right side line looks like pure death. The left side is steep and it can be greasy when it's
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50 laps at 50

 2024 has been full of great rides. I started the year with a bike trip to Arkansas  . Filled the summer with some great sessions at Valmont . And then got to do another trip with my CB buds. I knew I was creeping up on a big birthday, but more importantly 2024 marks my 30th anniversary with mountain biking. Yes, in 1994 in Lakewood, Colorado I wandered into a Bicycle Village with a wad of cash hard earned from changing oil at the Texaco Express Lube. One thing I remember about the purchase is that there was actually a Trek 810 made of mild steel, and I got the Trek 820 which had a chromoly frame. So I didn't get the cheapest bike. My bike was red, but this was the only one I found with correct brakes Anyway, I've done a lot of riding since that beauty kicked it all off. Sometimes more riding than I remember. This was clear a few weeks ago when I happened to notice that Starva keeps track of your, 'attempts' down a segment. So I looked and saw that I had 32 attempts dow

Unconventional Suicides and Motorcycle Mayhem

 Every year I meet some Crested Butte friends for a weekend of big rides. These are guys I rode with in the 90's when I lived out there. One friend, Chris is the voice of reason, he's sensible and realistic, and he had a legitimate concern about the weather. I was really looking forward to a weekend in the mountains so I waited to hear what my other friend Kevin thought. So I loaded up my van and headed west, the drive started with a strange omen when I followed a guy on a motorcycle down the diagonal.  He popped into a very confident wheelie and then rode it for a solid minute and a half while I filmed him. I kept driving, the domestic clutter of the front range fell away behind me and I knew I was nearing my destination when the aptly named Mt. Massive came into view. Despite my driving while taking photos, I made it to the crest of Monarch pass. There I noticed a police car and a sparkly orange Harley parked facing the wrong way. As I got closer I could see sparkly orange pi

Survivor's guilt

 I try to stay positive and I like to encourage others to try new things. I'm gonna be the guy yelling, "yeah dude, you got this!" to someone standing at the top of the jump. Usually this works out and we all cheer when the rider overcomes the new challenge. yah! Sometimes it doesn't go that way though, sometimes it goes badly and I was the guy saying "you got this." Even if you didn't. And sometimes other factors in my life can infect my mountain biking. Here's an example of how one specific day went. It started with my wife challenging everything I said. Me: I'll just take the puppy outside to go. Wife: Oh she won't go yet. Me: I'll just use the trimmer to cut those thistles. Wife: I don't think the trimmer will work on thistles. ect. Me: whatever. Then I made it to work where my boss challenged everything I said. Me: That oil leak is the pressure sender. Boss: You don't think it's something else? Me: That head is aluminum.

Duck (a short story)

Our knobby tires rolled along the single track, each pedal stroke was accompanied by a quiet whir from the electric assist. Cody lead the way, intermittently glancing down at his phone on a handlebar mount. He was following a gps course laid out by previous riders. Aki trailed behind him and I followed along in sweep.  We had started riding before dawn and now the sun was just starting to creep over the horizon, lighting up the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. I pulled in behind Aki and heard the distinct sound of his dry chain running through the derailer. You know I had chain lube back at base you could have used. He didn’t look back, he just said, I’ve got some with me. And you’re saving it for just the right moment? I asked. Is it bothering you? It’s just noisy. It’s not as noisy as you hassling me about it. He had a point. I backed off of his wheel and left some more space. It was fun giving him grief, it reminded me of the rides we used to do together before all this shit. I sto