Category: Biking

Flow trail

Chris Tanner

So far here in the US I’ve only been out on my mountain bike for three rides. In more than 3 months … with dusty trails just a few minutes away, and no rain. That’s not something I’m too proud of, though I am riding a good few miles to work most days on my trusty mid-90s road bike which keeps the fitness levels up. The fact that two of those three rides have been at night says something though … even if it is dry and dusty, it is still winter, which means that by the time I get home from work it’s dark.

Last night a few of us headed up to a spot which had already built a legendary reputation for itself in my mind, just in the few conversations I’ve had with local bikers – “The Flow Trail”. It was awesome. I can’t wait to ride it during the day. We did laps, drunk a load of beer, rode fast and loose, and nobody got hurt. This beer drinking on a bike ride is new to me. Andy always seems to rock up with a 12 pack in his rucksack, and we get through a can or two at the top of each climb, to celebrate.

The flow trail is made up of endless swoops, dips, drops and turns on dry hardpack dirt, twisting in between the trees. Just like a tight, well built BMX track, but twisted onto the side of a mountain. Each lap was faster and faster – but my mind was always very aware of the unknown dangers lurking just out of sight at the edge of our little pools of white light. It sometimes felt like we were riding along the rim of a dark, deep crater, where one slip off the trail would end up in a long, nasty fall.

Woop woop!

I got pulled over by the police on the way back. It was almost midnight and there were more cop cars out than I’ve ever seen before, and I guess the van isn’t your usual suburban family car, so it does attract more attention. I passed the patrol car in a gas station and saw it pull out behind me. Uh oh, what do they want from me? After driving down the road a short while, on go the lights, and I pull over. The guys come up to the window with blinding flashlights, I have visions of dramatic scenes from numerous American movies with drivers held to the bonnet [hood] with arms twisted behind their backs.

Turns out I just needed an illuminated rear licence plate – something that I’d actually been warning about ages ago by a local shipwright nearby. Must get that sorted some day soon. And a Californian driving licence.

 

Live to ride another ride

Chris Tanner

My bike is on its last legs [wheels?]. The two of us had a tough morning. As happens to all full suss bikes as they reach old age, the back end had started to go a little kooky and creaky. I figured it was just old joints; nothing that bearing transplant couldn’t fix. What started out as a quick job nearly ended up as the bike’s final day. It lay there in pieces on the surgery floor as a fine drizzle settled in, completely dismembered and disembowelled. For a while I thought it wouldn’t make it through – fatally wounded, the cost of repair being more than a new frame. One of the bearings had completely destroyed itself, leaving just the outer race firmly pressed into one of the pivot arms. This made it impossible to get off with the tools I have lying around. We’re talking bricks, hammer, pliers, spanner here. Nothing high tech like a vice, which would have come in handy. I even started looking on eBay for a new bike (sorry bike, I know I shouldn’t have been so fickle).

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Then I had a brainwave – I’d rebuild the bearing using internals from one of the new ones I’d got from the lads at Lush Longboards. This proved pretty straightforward (with a little help from a friendly pack of butter to keep the balls in place). Once the bearing was rebuilt, it was easy to pop out and drop in a new one. We’re back in the game!

Lurpack Speed Bearing (c)

Dashing back for the pub

Chris Tanner

Here’s a shot taken at mach 2 on our way back from the regular Tuesday night ride in Ashton court / Leigh woods. The GoPro can’t quite get enough light in at that speed, this late in the day – but it’s still quite an evocative shot; the Clifton suspension bridge at dusk providing a gateway back into the city, as a squad of bikers dash to make it back to The Cottage Inn in time for last food orders…

Pedal-pedal-pedal-pedal

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Buzzing from a blast around the woods on me bike. Love it love it love it. The summer evening light, the smell of newly cut grass, dusty trails, senses focussed 100% on staying on the trail, body pumped full of some awesome speed boosting chemicals, pedalpedalpedalpedal, hang in there round the switchback, front wheel scrubbing on the polished rocks, bushes and trees rushing past on the fringes of my peripheral vision, touching the brakes lightly to stay in control, powering up the hills, don’t stop don’t lose speed go go go go!

Shredding the gnar

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OK, so this isn’t so pretty. But it tells a story. I crashed off my bike last week in the Alps and put a nasty gash in my arm. Went to the local emergency centre who wouldn’t let me in as I was so grubby! I managed to get a quick splash at the local fountain and tried again – they let me in this time and apologised when they saw the depth of the wound. They popped a few stitches in and sent me on my way. That was the end of my riding for the week though. Throughout the trip I was hitting things, crashing and generally not doing so well – I put it down to tiredness and the inability to think fast enough to steer and brake properly. I’d had a crazy few months up to this point at work and it showed.