“Yes! That’s for me”! I didn’t have to think twice when the salesman at the bike shop showed me a mountain bike for the first time. Standing before the knobby-tired dream-come-true, images of me as a young girl, trying to pedal my tiny-tired Schwinn through the dirt in my back yard leaped to the forefront of my mind. Clear as a bell, I recalled my childhood wish that a bike would be invented to ride over rocks and through mud, as my little Schwinn succumbed to the terrain. “I’ll take it”! I announced. Adding a helmet and bike rack to the bill, I happily forked over my hard-earned cash, as a bike shop employee attached the rack to the back of my car. Next, my new prized possession, a Trek 7000, fully rigid mountain bike was mounted to the rack and I was off to a new life.
The year was 1989 and I was a young adult albeit still the same mud-loving, rough and tumble Tom Boy as when I desperately tried pedaling my Schwinn around the yard. I had no idea what mountain biking was truly all about, except that it meant I could finally ride a bike over virtually anything nature threw my way. After convincing a friend to plunk down his cash on a mountain bike, he and I ventured into the woods of the hilly, rocky topography of northern New Jersey. With my long ponytail dangling out the back of my helmet, I raced up my first trail.
A competitive judo player since the age of twelve, I was in top shape, ready to combat any mountain and all of its rocks and roots. Zipping along the trails, our rides always began with a steep climb that seemed to go on indefinitely until we were rewarded with scenic views, snappy single tracks, and white-knuckled descents. The sound of rocks, spun free by the knobby tires and sent pinging against the bike frame, was music to my ears.
Propelled by the confidence that my Trek could roll over and eat up anything thrown in front of it, we were unstoppable – invincible! With my feet secured to the pedals in toe clips, I took on anything, including a few things that weren’t exactly meant for a 1989 vintage, rigid mountain bike that sent me sailing OTB – over the bars – or smack down in the dirt more than a few times. One such time was when pedaling through a winding trail that opened into a wide, flat region of the forest. Off to the right was a steep cliff, rising sharply up about twenty feet. It was pure dirt and resembled half of a half pipe looming above the flatlands. Getting a running start, I pedaled furiously, convinced I could make it to the top ledge. Several failed attempts didn’t deter me but on my final try, I nearly made it up and over when my bike slide out from under me, and with one hand on the top tube and the other digging into the dirt, we slid, face down, to the bottom. The result was a bruised ego and a totally torn to shreds biking glove.
Back then there were no manmade features, carefully carved berms, jumps hammered together with wood and nails, or engineered dirt moguls launching bike and rider with undulating rhythmical precision. What we did have was whatever mother nature put in our path, fallen trees, rocks, puddles, surfaced roots holding hands with other roots, and hidden surprises, like loose gravel hiding under a blanket of leaves. One such surprise snared me during an autumn ride when, pedaling full tear behind my buddy along a winding trail, the ground changed from hard-packed dirt to loose gravel. My back tire spun out, dropping the bike out from under me but I had so much momentum, that I soared over the bars like Superman, belly flopping on the gravel and rocks. Stunned, I looked back at my bike laying several feet behind me with the rear wheel still spinning. Scrambling to my feet, I picked up my bike, inspecting it for damage and was relieved to learn the only harm was my bruised midsection. Screeching rubber brakes against metal rims resonated from the trail ahead when my friend realized I was no longer behind him. Backtracking, he called out, “Are you okay”? “Yeah,” I responded, adding, “You know what? You haven’t been mountain biking until you’ve become one with the mountain.”
Throughout the years there would be many more crashes, many more times becoming one with the mountain, some OTB and others down to the side, a victim of mother nature’s surprises. It was common to yell, “Stupid rock”! when one seemed to jump out in front of you last minute, sending you flying. We didn’t yell, “dropping in,” there was no need. We didn’t drop in, we were always in, in the natural landscape of the woods, riding for hours on end, up steeps climbs, over rock gardens, zigging through single tracks, and bombing downhills, all without any suspension whatsoever. Come to think of it, since our ride always began at the base of a mountain with a long climb up, if we were going to announce anything, it wouldn’t be, “dropping in,” it would be, “rising up”! It was hours upon hours of pure sweat-soaked grit.
I did move forward with the technology of the times, first by getting a bike, a Kona Explosif, with a Marzocchi front shock, and then a full suspension Giant NRS 1 carbon frame bike, with Fox Racing shocks. A busy life wedged a hiatus in my mountain biking, but I recently returned to the sport, only to find it entirely different. Bike parks are the new thing, and most riders are cushioned and protected with full face helmets, knee pads, elbow pads, and other forms of body armor.
As for the mountain bikes, the wheel sizes of bikes have grown, allowing them to roll over obstacles better, and the frame geometry has totally changed, now positioning the rider in a more upright posture. SPD pedals that once locked a rider’s feet to the bike are being replaced by flat pedals with little spikes, screws that grip to the bottom of your bike shoes. Perhaps one of the most glorious things is the redesign of bike shoes. They are no longer so narrow and pointy with a width that you could barely squeeze a banana in, but rather are wide, comfortable, and sneaker-like, such as the Five Ten mountain bike shoes by the great German sportswear company, Adidas.
I have come to the realization that mountain biking, like many things in life, is a state of mind. When I first started, I believed I could ride over anything, and so I did. Now I debate tire size, gear ratios, frame geometries, and more. I did buy a pair of Five Ten shoes with rubber soles that stick to my new flat pedals and am happily more upright on my new mountain bike. Despite all that, I will still be riding, old school, through the woods, grinding up climbs, and on trails carved and designed by nature.
As for which new bike I opted for, check my next blog to see my NEW BIKE reveal!