Oh, the change of seasons. The wearin’ o’ the green. Spring wildflowers. Longer light into the evening. Warming air.
Feels so good to not have to think about how to squeeze a daylight ride in after work while watching the clock. And weekends mean rides and plenty of “time” to do other things outside with other people.
When we pedal a bike in the mountains and breathing becomes labored, taut muscles in tow, it means nothing at the end of the day. We are only human creatures doing something meaningless.
Sure, it gives us something. Why else do it?
Good cheer.
Good health, physical and mental.
Good on me.
That’s not a good or bad thing.
It doesn’t matter.
Hands down, some of the best mountain biking I’ve done was in Idaho. I’ll always say Long Canyon was my favorite ride ever. It’s now closed to bikes, as it’s in wilderness. Over by Sun Valley, there’s great riding. Up by Coeur d'Alene, yep, more stellar riding. And I really wanna go back to Stanley and ride more.
Scenery. Trails. Mountains. It’s spectacular.
But maybe what’s seared more into my memory is that those rides were with friends.
Mountain biking with friends is what gives meaning to what we do, doesn’t it?
Experiencing the moment on the trail. Assisting with mechanicals and sharing food. Smiling knowing that your friend is having a good time, maybe a time they’ve much needed, relative to challenges in their lives, a moment to put that away and live another part of who they are …
Recalling the day’s ride over grub and grog. Laughter by the campfire.
Making tomorrow’s ride route together. Planning the morning breakfast. Oatmeal or burritos? Yes, coffee, for sure.
That human touch. Caring not only about ourselves.
Caring about the well being of others.
Together, setting out on the trail. Together on the trail. And making sure we all get off the trail together.
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Most of my favorite bike riding memories are with a small group of friends. You guys know who you are ;)
I'm glad we were able to ride long canyon once.