September 17, 2021

Hey Group Riders. Living in the heart of a big metropolitan area, the best trail for mountain biking is often the one that’s closest. The less time spent navigating through the city streets, the more time you’re putting those big, knobby tires where they belong: on the dirt.

In San Diego, the dusty paths of Balboa Park are conveniently only 5-10 minutes away from my house. As you’d expect, I’ve come to know them quite well. But every so often, it’s worthwhile to throw the ol’ bike in the back of the car, put on some of Tom Petty’s greatest hits, and venture into the great wide open.

With this in mind, today's newsletter gets rollin' with a two-part story, followed by a look at aging gracefully on two wheels.

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Warm Up

Won't Back Down (Part 1)

Photo credit: Justin Prugh

To break out of my Balboa Park rut, a couple of days ago I put my mountain bike and two extra water bottles into our car and cruised east along Interstate 8. San Diego has barely had a sip of rainfall over the last six months, so – as is the case for so many parts of the western U.S. – it’s even drier than usual. The greenery quickly gives way to blazing desert heat.

My destination was the Big Laguna trail network in Cleveland National Park, a haven for San Diego cyclists looking to escape the urban jungle. I’d blown by the park at 75 mph a couple times before on my way to and from Arizona, thinking to myself, “Some day, I’ll get over there.” It felt good to finally be honoring that promise. 

As I approached the trailhead, practically trembling with excitement, orange traffic cones and lowered gates blocked the entrance. Uh-oh. Frantically, I Googled and discovered exactly what I’d feared: “Due to ongoing high fire danger and active wildfires across the West, the Southern California national forests will remain closed for another week to better provide for public and firefighter safety.” Fair enough. 

I pressed on down the county road for another 15 minutes with increasing anxiety that my grand adventure would soon end in a U-turn. Eventually, I crossed into Anza-Borrego Desert State Park and, strangely enough, it appeared to be welcoming visitors. The next trailhead came into view, and I pulled into the empty parking to unload.

The sun beat down on my black helmet as I saddled up. I wiped the first beads of sweat from my brow. High above me, a vulture circled.

Crank It

You Got Lucky (Part 2)

Photo credit: Brent Olson

Faint horseshoe prints and a mostly decayed pile of road apples told me I wasn’t completely alone in the wilderness. But in the two hours of riding I did, I didn’t see another soul. The trail proved to be fairly technical singletrack, a mixture of protruding rocks and kitty litter, with sweeping turns and blind corners. Old pine needles, tumbleweed, and dead foliage lined the path. The whole place looked one spark away from going up in smoke.

Forty-five minutes into my ride, and thoroughly parched from my climb, I stopped to wipe the dust from my water bottle nozzle and take a long drink. Three-quarters of the contents vanished into my stomach effortlessly. Feeling replenished, I continued on steadily, calculating how much further I thought I could press on in these oven-like conditions before turning back to the car, where the remainder of my water supply waited on the passenger seat. Five miles? Ten? 

My mind began to drift.

So did my bike.

A sudden bump sent my handlebars sideways. My instincts took over. I immediately put a foot down and caught the fall. Thank goodness for flat pedals. No harm done this time. If I’d been clipped in, I’d have gone down for sure. 

What would have happened if that momentary slip-up had led to a broken leg? No reception to make an emergency call. No beacon for others to track my whereabouts. No medical equipment on hand, save for a few Band-Aids and some Neosporin. I could yell for help, hobble along with my bike as a crutch, or even crawl my way back if push came to shove. In this oppressive heat, would I even make it? Of course. Certainly. Without question...Right?

When your thoughts turn seriously to “What would Aron Ralston do?”, you know it’s time to head home. Tempering the thrill of a great descent with a cocktail of imminent danger and disturbing solitude, I gingerly returned from whence I came.

Coffee Stop

The Waiting

Photo credit: Mustafa Bashari

On days when I depart for a morning ride, I barely reach the end of my driveway before I start thinking about what I want to eat for lunch. The waiting (to eat) is, indeed, the hardest part.

Chips are a common fantasy when I'm stomping the pedals, and while I tend to favor tortilla chips, potato chips have been gaining ground lately for a few reasons: 

1. It’s not just Ruffles and Lay’s any more, folks. Artisanal brands like Boulder Canyon and Kettle are taking over the chip aisle. Imho, deservedly so.
2. Potato chips aren't as sinful as they used to be. For years, they were infamous as THE junk food that would clog your arteries. Now, thanks to alternative cooking oils, baked vs. fried varieties, and lower fat and sodium options, that’s less true.
3. Most importantly, the flavors are getting into some really cool territory: Bourbon BBQ, Honey Dijon, Truffle and Sea Salt, among others.

The latest a-little-unusual-but-sure-why-not flavor I've tried from Kettle is the Krinkle Cut Habanero Lime. (It must be said that this flavor combo is a real shot across the bow at tortilla chip makers. ) What I love about these chips is that they are decidedly spicy, but not so spicy that I’m deterred from reaching for another chip. The lime flavor is subtle yet unmistakable. The krinkle cut adds a rigidity and crispiness that, frankly, I think all potato chips would benefit from.

You might say they're all that and a bag of chips. If you can get your hands on some, check 'em out. 

Jaunt Back

Handle With Care

Photo credit: Serhat Beyazkaya

“According to strength and endurance records, men and women reach their peak performances between the ages of 25 and 35.” I read that line from VeloNews last week, then glanced at the date. It confirmed that, as of this newsletter, my 35th birthday is less than two months away. Statistically, my window for record-setting has nearly closed. 

At 35, I feel my age more than ever before. It’s hard to even imagine those times in college when, after a late night of drinking, I could roll out of bed the following morning and go straight to the gym. By contrast, I recently laughed with my similarly aged friends about how sleeping – just sleeping, in my own bed, on a comfortable mattress, peacefully, undisrupted – can still cause me to wake up sore once in a while. 

It doesn’t have to be this way, the article goes on to say. The conclusion of your youth doesn’t necessarily translate to the beginning of your athletic decline. You can still set PRs, knock out century rides, and compete with athletes half your age – but it takes hard work. And more nudges to make the right choice the easy choice. 

So, what specifically do I need to do differently to take care of myself as I enter middle age? (For those scoffing at the usage of "middle age", the current life expectancy for men in the U.S. is 76.3 years.) That’s the question I intend to answer for myself over the next couple months. I'll dig into this topic further and share my learnings in an upcoming Group Ride. 

Cool Down

Runnin' Down a Dream

Photo credit: Ronan Furuta

The latest direct mail piece I received from Trek wasn't a catalog selling their latest gear and gizmos, but rather a refreshing compilation of stories about "22 riders changing the world with bikes." Each story is well written, but one in particular stood out to me about an 83-year-old cyclist named Joe Shami who "summited the same mountain every week for nearly twelve years in the quest to ride 100,000 miles on his 2004 Trek 5500."

Joe became a pen pal and friend of the president of Trek, John Burke. As they got to know each other better, John made plans to ride and celebrate with Joe as he achieved his 100K milestone. 

I won't give away the ending, but I'll tell you that it's both inspiring and unexpected. More than that, it's a good reminder that – at any age – the accomplishment of a big, hairy, audacious goal starts with breaking it down into much smaller, attainable pieces.

Peel Off

Giphy

This weekend, my wife and I are scooting up to Balboa Island, then taking a cruise over to Catalina. The island was just hailed by Outside as a hidden gem for gravel cyclists, so I’ll do some recon for a future date when I can bring my bike along for the journey.

Hope your final week of summer ends on a high note. Even in San Diego, autumn is on its way.

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