Mgoose's blog

From the warm security of my desk, I gazed at the steadily falling screen of white that rippled outside the office window. My home page confirmed that which I had already known, snow showers for today indicted by a happy little drawing of a snowflake in front of two gray clouds and a high of 23 degrees. How did this happen? Just last week I was frolicking through the swamped out fields of a sun-rich 55 degree afternoon. Regardless of how long fall lasts or how slow our dip into the off-season begins, it always seems to creep up from behind, a silent stalker with depressing intent.

Back to my quickly chilling coffee and the piles of work that have mounted as a result of my pondering. I suppose the bright side to the horrible weather outside is that the distant spring becomes a long term goal, a destination rather than just a change in the seasons. Winter time in New York has its charms but rarely do they apply to mountain biking.

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A Typical Business Trip- Appalachian Style

From the intermittent flashing of the passing street lights on
Northbound Rt. 79, I found myself in silent recollection of the events leading up to my position in a pull-out motor home bed at 2:30 in the late September morning.

The onset of this adventure had long since faded into the recess of memory, a distant dream of anticipation from another lifetime when the trees were alive with budding leaves and the last signs of a long cold winter faded in strips of quickly melting slush.

Like so many prior incidents of personal disappointment, the full time job played a role in the initial motivation to plan a mountain bike trek of epic proportion; a trip many miles from the comfort and security of home and toward the legendary Appalachians. The journey began as an office related request; a bankers conference to be specific, that in addition to several meetings of varying degrees of torture, would require three nights stay in lovely West Virginia. Even more exciting was the fact that the hotel hosting the affair just so happened to be located in the shadow of the Appalachian Mountains.

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Perhaps the Final Ride of the Season

From the saddle I've already begun choosing my words; my attention divided evenly between the tasks of balance at hand and deferred poetry yet to be inputted onto my computer screen. Leafless trees pass in mind numbing succession rivaled only by the aching of my soaking wet toes. Rides like these are their own reward, a blend of suffering and discomfort that somehow manage to open a window of opportunity into the very essence of the sport. I do my best reflection while it is in the process of taking place; a moment that’s projected of the future in which I’ll think back to this very instant. I’m cold, thoroughly beaten, groggy, and winded with thoughts of conversation over hot coffee in which I’ll do my best to recall the intricate details of these moments. I’ve waited all week for this, and I’ll likely spend most of the upcoming week replaying it in my head. The ribbon of soggy double-track will loop for several more miles before the ride is concluded and beads of garden hose-nozzle induced water begin to gather on the mud streaked frame. The ride: A race against the setting sun, the battle of homeostasis against the dropping temps and soaking layered clothes. All that motivates me is the thought of a hot shower and dry clothes and yet I am already all too aware of the longing that will accompany my return to normality- The longing to be back out here. Perhaps I’ll slow down and take it all in for just a few additional fleeting moments of discomfort. Perhaps it will make me a bit more acceptant of the off-season when I’ll convince myself only of the pleasures in days like this while surfing the DSL Kingdom of the Triple W. Yes, slowing down to make the moment last is probably the right thing to do. I must atone for time spent riding while deep in thought.

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