"Trail Lilts" and the Need to Sometimes Linger

No Dabs, 1/29/21

“Trail Lilts” and the Need to Sometimes Linger

Wake to the sound of the alarm clock and half-sleep-step-walk to the kitchen to make coffee. Drink a cup while loading up the vehicle and pour the remainder into an insulated cup for the drive. Pull out of the driveway and head to the interstate, the sun not yet up. It is me and people heading off to work, I guess.

Fortunately, work is not on my day’s agenda. A day road trip is, though, climate change sitting in the rearview mirror as I go about my mountain biking life. Rolling around my head is the reality that I am driving alone to a trail head, by choice, the idea being that I need to ride and where I live, the back yard trails are soaking wet, rendering them not able to be ridden, for likely a week. I have time now to ride. My window of opportunity is tight.

Pull into the parking area at the trail head, as the sun’s pale light illuminates the sky. I love this hour. Like the golden hour of evening, morning light brings calm. A couple other cars and humans are here, unloading bikes from racks, travel cups and thermoses in hands, a few voices drifting past my ears.

Saddle up. Pedal. Breathe.

“Mornin’,” I blandly say as I pass a lone rider on the left.

“Good morning.”

Out here, on the trail, under trees still canopied with green leaves, I find refuge. In the cadence of the pedal stroke comes stoke, be it the slow turning of cranks on the labored climb or the chopping of knees while hammering the flats and the ups and downs. Out there, where I plan to go, is farther away.

Life.

It is all there, even when it disappears for a while, into the brain space that it needs to go so that I can be here now. Later, I know, the ride will end and it will reenter.

A thankful smile is on my face as I crest out. In front of me are a few miles of swooping single track with smatterings of rocks. Bends and swerves and “trail lilts” characterize the riding experience. There is not much of a need to pedal. Calves are tight. Hands clench and a little numbness is present. Carpal tunnel or new grips? Who cares?

It is followed by a handful of cross-country riding miles with trail segments next to a mountain stream.

Stop. Observe. Listen.

There is beauty in this world.

I can never get enough of riding a bike on a trail with nearby water coursing its way through the landscape.

Turn left. Add on more miles. Add on more ticks of the clock. Add on more out here, resulting in less back there. Back to the office. Back to the factory floor. Back to the restaurant kitchen. Back to responsibilities. Back to paying bills. Back to _______.

An apple and some nuts are in my pack. I decide to stop and fuel up a bit, hydrating too. A spot off the trail with a nice view of rolling green mountains from the top of an old crag is a respite place. A soft breeze dries my shirt.

On the bike again, my body eases back into the rhythms of mountain biking. I want to linger. There are moments when it seems I am aligned. Some of those moments are when I am on the trail, and when on the trail, in those exact moments, I am often, nearly always, aligned.

There is an energy bar at the bottom of my pack. Somewhere in the inside pocket there are water purification tablets. I know these trails like the back of my hand, as they say. At the forest road, where I could turn right and be back at my car in less than a minute, I turn left. My legs feel good. The spirit is high.

In my head, I have already connected a few trails into a loop. From the forest road, I dive into an unmarked trail.

Out there, I go.