First day back!!

This morning a shrill alarm roused my consciousness and despite a brief desire to curse my clock, silence the dream thief and roll back into my warm cocoon, I got out of bed rather slowly. Cutting through the fog was the thought that today, for the first time in the 7 months since my knee surgery and back injury, I would get the chance to take my downhill steed out of the lonely basement and point her tires downhill. That thought alone made the slight pain in my head and exhaustion slightly less relevant. I opened my door to find every available inch of counter space in my house covered in bottles of every size as well as various partially eaten potluck dishes and birthday treats. I greeted the broken wine glasses, spills on the floor and wine-soaked rags in the sink and grabbed a glass of water before laughing to myself. Last night was my room-mate and her twin sister's birthday party and we had done it up in style. Epic celebrations consisting of a packed house of the best of friends anyone could ask for, delicious potluck feast, singing, dancing and general mayhem flashed through my head... And that was before we made it to the bar. So epic, but that is another story all together.

I called up the two like-minded hooligans who were to be in on the mid-winter jailbreak of a riding mission. They were both slightly worse off than I, but the excitement of the adventure was contagious and before long excuses were set aside and a plan to ride Rio was enacted. After a fitting breakfast and a lifesaving cold shower my best friend and ride showed up, and we packed up my bike and bags containing the gear from a seemingly long-lost life. We met up with a brother from old-days, my best friend from high-school who had a lot to do with why I got into riding in such a big way. The three of us headed up the hill discussing life and exuding pure stoke.

At the top of the hill we found a fair bit more snow than expected but we geared up and giddily did what we had come there to do, pointed our tires downhill and got on the pedals. Now the 3 inches of snow at the top of the hill didn't do too much other than bring a new dimension to the trail and increase our stoke, but what lay ahead promised to be more challenging. Once we hit the treed-in flats the snow increased in both depth and crust and we were forced to get off our bikes and push. We achieved the downslope into the roadgap and were again getting zesty sliding everywhere but the fun was cut short once we hit the side-hill and were again cursing winter's cold heart. Once we got into the gully the snow got even deeper, but we had come too far to go back so we counted on the snow loosing depth further on and hammered through it. Adding to the challenge of just riding in the snow was a layer of crust from snowshoers who had apparently become fond of walking the trail, so needless to say the first third of the gully was a lot of work, pedalling like mad on the flats just to maintain rolling momentum. At one of the road-crossings the snowshoers turned off the trail and the snow simultaneously became hard enough to ride on. This was what we had come for - the hard work until that point had sapped at our lacking energy reserves but we put it behind us and immediately picked up both the pace and the volume of our cheers down the trail. I instantly fell back in love with my Glory - light, balanced and responsive as ever - and the mid-section was a lot of fun. After the steeper ravine section the snow had become quite shallow but, as I was soon to discover, under the white veil of winter there were patches of black ice in inopportune locations. Unweighting into a compression while thinking to myself how happy I was to be on my bike, I came down on a slightly off-camber downslope and instantly lost the front end. I saved the drift in staying upright but I shot off the trail directly into a little stand of trees, letting go of my bike right as I slammed into a decently-solid sapling. Hearing my buddy fast approaching and out-of-control behind me, I pretty much rolled out and had to scramble off the trail to avoid getting hit. At that point we looked under the snow and realized that we were pretty much riding on sheet ice. This made the bottom part of the trail super fun - it was pretty much like a burmed out luge track with next to no traction. I love anything drifty so this was a nice little challenging slice of heaven - the best kind of escape from my usual-as-of-late world of studying - so it was nice to have a clear mind and focus on staying upright. At the end of the trail high-fives were exchanged and we rode out to the truck. One part of the trio was in too rough of shape to challenge a second run so we called it a day at that point, making plans to try to escape winter's grip again some time soon in the future. Slightly later on we decided a mission to Savona and Batch must be pursued in short order, so plans are in place to break out at our first coming chance. It was so indescribably good to get back on the steed and steal back a major peace of my life it is tough to communicate. I cannot wait for the next chance and all who are interested are invited to come join! All the best!

Justin

Bicycle Cafe Bike Store Webisode 2 - ShredHard Gets Rowdy

WARNING: Video containts mature subject matter and is not suitable for children or grown-ups with no sense of humour.

Untitled from karl heldt on Vimeo.

Bicycle Cafe Bike Shop Videos

Winter is painfully quiet at the bike shop and so the Bicycle Cafe crew is collaborating with Karl Heldt to help him dial in some new camera gear and show everyone the high stress lifestyle of working in a bike store. Check ‘er out!

Day At The Bicycle Cafe Episode One from karl heldt on Vimeo.

A Last Chance

It was the coldest morning I’d felt so far that year. At least the coldest morning my feet had yet to feel against the frozen creeking boards of my living room floor. A soft grayness waltzed past the window leaving its perimeter clouded and sparkling with frost. I felt a chill as deep inside me as my bones and as cold as the winter winds. The warm air blowing from my register said it was probably a good idea to stay at home, and the hot coffee in my hands agreed. As if the obvious warmth and comfort of my home weren’t reason enough to declare that day another relaxing one, I had doctors’ orders to make it so. Only two weeks had passed since I’d been cut up and had a hernia removed and riding a bike wasn’t exactly part of my recovery program. But I was watching winter creep its way further down the mountain day by day, and I was feeling a ”last chance” itch. Plus I have never been good at doing what I’m told.




Nearing the trailhead my body was developing a steady shiver. Good at convincing myself of my own ideas, I figured I would warm up once I started riding. But then when I lifted my bike from my truck I felt a bit of a sting in my stomach. And stepping over the top tube was harder than ever. Snap. The first shoe was in. But before I could push off and put my other foot to pedal I realized what a dumb Idea that might be. Sure, I could sit and pedal without discomfort. But what if I slip on a patch of ice and fall? Stranger things have happened. And then I would be straight back to the hospital and stuck in bed for another two weeks. That’s the last place I wanted to be. Besides, I had already declared my last ride of the year a few weeks prior with a victory lap on the Rio trail. And this ride wouldn’t turn out to be anything spectacular, would it? If I were to continue I wouldn’t even leave the fire road, I wouldn’t even touch a tire to trail. I unclipped the pedal and took a few steps back toward my truck. I paused for a moment, looking at the ground, at my bike, and then back at the ground. Defeat. I grabbed onto my bike and began to hoist it over the tailgate. Just as my back tire hit the bed liner a patch of the sky parted over a nearby rock face and a pocket of light burst through. It was glowing there atop the road I wished to pedal, shining triumphantly in what very well may be the last patch of sun I see for months. In the grand scheme of things, I don’t know very much. But I knew then, it was a terrible idea to go home. I lifted my bike back off the truck and hopped over the top tube. Snap, snap. With both of my shoes clicked into my pedals, I was gone.






That ride set me free. I had disobeyed my doctor and my own conscious but it was something I needed to do. The Doctor told me time would heal the wound and time I should allow it. But on that chilly morning, it felt as if time itself were the wound. It was itchy and I had to pick the scab. Do you ever feel that unexplainable urge that you can’t say no to? Even when I know its a bad idea, I still can’t say no to it. Even though I already had my “last ride of the year,” I needed that one. My last ride was a fully pinned lap down a high speed trail with one of my fastest friends plowing the trail behind me. Those kind of rides are my favourite because I feel like I am on the edge of destruction. But when your slashing and pumping and squeezing in pedals strokes between roots your eyes are focused on the trail ahead. Your eyes don’t have the freedom to wonder and to appreciate things like a the sun flickering off a water beaded leaf or a small breeze dancing through a field, drawing pictures with a trail of flickering blades of grass. Sometimes when I am riding on the edge of control I feel like I am locked in a cage, unable to appreciate the finer details of the places I play. Those chill rides like I had that day are the key that opens the cage and sets my eyes and imagination free to be. And to see whatever they wish to see.

Remembering A Dull Afternoon

The color ran out and the well worn path hadn’t even stirred up dust to speak of on this static afternoon. There was no sun giving light to the hills and no breeze putting wind under birds’ wings. All around me the land stood still in ugly shades of grey and it fealt as if I was the last person left on earth. I looked over the hills and felt nothing but distress , the world seemed like a lost cause. Every sage brush and every blade of grass had lost it’s flicker. Nothing made a sound and any treese in attendance hadn’t a leaf left to shed. They stood tall and black but looked cowardly with their rounded shoulders. Then a Jet flew over head leaving behind a white trail on an otherwise featureless sky. It was a terribly dull afternoon that left me with nothing but a few photos to speak of.




Just as the evening began to roll in, the juggernaut clouds parted and light broke through. Restoring the lively features of the world that I am more comfortable with and bringing back to life what had apeared to be the left overs of a bomb test village. The sky turned from smog to fuscia and I smiled. Pink sky at night, Sailers delight. Perfect. For a few minutes I thought the world might be coming to an end. I’m Stoked that on even the ugliest day Matt Miles can still shoot a killer photo or three.