A Primitive Curiosity

A Primitive Curiosity

Monday, February 17, 2014

Nanook of the NW

We got some snow here. I decided to test out how the new drops handled in the 4" or so that had accumulated and headed up to Forest Park. From the apartment to milepost one I had a tough time getting my legs warmed up and I was dragging ass. Halfway up to the gate at Leif Erickson a man about 65 or 70 flagged me down and wanted to know "Why the hell I wasn't falling down?" I said something about big tires with low pressure and he shook his head like I was crazy.

Once I got into the park, I passed some joggers just after the first milepost, started to warm up and have fun. 20psi in the WTB Mutanoraptors was just right traction wise and the center ridge that rides so well on pavement provided a lot of lateral stability. On my way up I saw one other bike track from that morning and several that had been snowed in overnight. At Firelane 1 I saw a Surly Nate track and was jealous of how wide the tracks were they made my 2.4's look tiny. 

Once I got to milepost 5 I got bored, and was starting to get a little cold. I cracked the Fosters oil can I had in my pack and poured as much as would fit into my bottle. I chugged the rest for saftey and descended as fast as I dared back home, occasionally taking a swig from my bottle. The only time I crashed all day was when I got distracted trying to drink some of the slushy beer while moving and let my front wheel get out of shape. Snow is soft and I got up and got home just as I was getting cold. 

It was a great ride. Snow riding is fun and it made me REALLY curious about what a fatbike would feel like in those kind of conditions. 

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

A Primitive Curiosity

A Primitive Curiosity. This is the way that Roderick Haig Brown describes fly fishing in his book, A Fisherman's Fall. Probing a foreign environment with feathered hook and line to see what happens next. Fish to hand, the curiosity is not satisfied. Rather, it is magnified by the distance between mammal and fish. No matter whether the fish is released unharmed or bonked and bled for the table the curiosity grows with each encounter.

For me, bicycling holds a closely related kind of primitive wonderHow far can I go under my own power? Will what I find be worth the effort expended to get there? Which will fail first? Man or machine? Or will man and machine meet in symbiosis and continue to function for tens, hundreds, thousands of miles. As with fishing, with each destination reached, each hill climbed, makes me wonder what is over the next.


More to come.