IT SEEMS EVERYONE is
buying new mountain bikes. Some bike
shop owners have reported marked increases in sales and, with
all the flashy machines cruising the streets and down the office
hallway, I believe them.
But where to ride these things? Sure, everyone knows some hot dog rider who takes his mountain bike across the Grand Canyon for a warm-up, but if you just bought a new bike do you really want to ride with this guy or gal? Certainly, if becoming a better rider in a big hurry is worth risking every bone in your body. But if you have some shred of pride, after maxing out your plastic on the new machine and explaining away the expense to your spouse or creditors, you might want to start with something easy.
Just east of the Rincon Mountains waits Happy Valley and Forest Service Road 35. The road makes a nice ride for beginners--it's wide and easy to follow. The first couple of miles are all uphill, though with a few exceptions it's a gradual climb. This initial climb is good for two reasons. First, it forces you to shed any unrealistic notions of your athletic ability. Second, if you ignore this first warning and push yourself beyond capacity, the ride back is downhill and leaves you feeling happy and wanting more.
As an added bonus, the surrounding scenery captures the eye and
might inspire novice riders to brave greater dangers in the future
in order to go to such places.
Since this column is intended to give beginning riders a leg up on the mountain-biking veterans, the rest of the story will include biker jargon kindly compiled on the Internet by Jerry Dunn (jerryd@rain.org).
Today the Out There riders constitute a veritable posse with five riders and two dogs. Lente S. Hancho steals the show with his new Cannondale F-1000. Constructed of UNOBTANIUM (adj. describing a bike or accessory made from expensive high-tech material. A play on "unobtainable" and "titanium"), the bike has every feature imaginable, though it's not a BOING-BOING (n. a bike with front and rear shocks).
Among GIBLETS (n. all the colorful parts and pieces that you can add or change out on a bike) on Hancho's bike is a computer that determines distance traveled, speed, average speed and the current Dow Jones. Some might accuse Hancho of being a TECHNO-WEENIE (n. a rider who buys lots of gadgets to add supposed iotas of performance to the bike) but really, knowing how many miles you've traveled can give you a pretty good fix on where you are if you have a map. Unfortunately, we can't get the dammed thing to work.
Riders Jim Nintzel and Mari Wadsworth also have new bikes. Any seasoned rider looking at our group would write us off as a bunch of FREDs and BARNEYs (n. a person who spends a lot of money on his bike and clothing, but still can't ride.) Except me of course, with my bike manufactured during the reign of Ronald Reagan. I'd get labeled as a RETRO-GROUCH (n. a rider who prefers an old bike with old components and who isn't fond of new, high-tech equipment).
But to hell with those arrogant spoke heads. We strap on our SKID LIDs (n. helmet) and hit the road.
Unlike little-used roads full of DEATH COOKIES (n. fist-sized rocks that knock your bike in every direction but the one you want to proceed in), this is an easy route to navigate. Even so, with a couple of big hills and a few GONZO (adj. treacherous, extreme) curves, the opportunity remains for getting BACON (n. scabs on a rider's knees, elbows, or other body parts) by doing and ENDO (n. the maneuver of flying unexpectedly over the handlebars, thus being forcibly ejected from the bike. Short for "end over end." syn. SUPERMAN) or AUGURING (v. to involuntarily take samples of the local geology, usually with one's face, during a crash. syn. FACE PLANT). It all depends on the speed you go.
This ride can go for as long as you like. Eventually the Forest Service Road deteriorates to a trail, but you could conceivably ride the 15 miles to the little hamlet of Cascabel. However, to try that, with the uncertainty of the dwindling road, could result in a THREE-HOUR TOUR (n. a ride that looks like a piece of cake at the outset, but turns out to be a death march, derived from the theme song to Gilligan's Island.)
Instead take your time and enjoy the scenery. To your left the mighty Rincons rise up and you get a good view of Rincon Peak and some of the charred remains from last year's record wildfire season.
Since we have the dogs along, we go pretty slow. On a technical ride with a lot of GRUNTS (n. a very difficult climb, requiring use of the GRANNY GEAR) where the less seasoned may rediscover the joy of walking, dogs can have a blast. Even then you have to remember you're still on wheels, while the dogs are barepawed and can easily overheat, especially in the summer.
Though good riders could go much too fast for dogs on this road, this poses no problem for us. Climbing up a large hill, a couple riders lose their MO (n. momentum) and we set up a TEA PARTY (n. when a whole group of riders stops and chats, and nobody seems to want to ride on).
With everybody pretty much CASHED (figure it out) we head back downhill with the howl of WILD PIGS (n. poorly adjusted brake pads that squeal in use) before us.
Getting There:
Happy Valley lies just north of I-10 off the Mescal Road, exit
297. Take Mescal Road north and bear to the right when you come
to the fork in the road. Seven miles from where the pavement ends
you should cross the boundary marking the National Forest. Immediately
after that, there's a large parking area. Pull in there and haul
out your bikes.
