Deer Ramblings

Jason and I went camping at a yurt in Flagstaff this week. Here's a snapshot of my thoughts as I ran into a deer on the trail...

Our humble yurt at the Flagstaff Nordic Center

I can't believe how beautiful it is outsi – oh, shit! That's a deer! Like in the trail, looking at me and way fucking bigger than I imagined, deer. Or is it a moose? Wait, no. I'm from NH – why am I suddenly unable to tell the difference between a moose and a deer? Definitely a deer. He looks pissed, or maybe he just takes his morning walks very seriously and I just fucked it all up for him. Do I turn around? Or is that rude – I don't want the deer to think I am avoiding him, but I also don't want to be trampled to death. Do they even trample? Should I climb one of these trees? What? No. I haven't climbed a tree since I was 10 – so no, I should not climb one of these trees. Those antlers are freaking me out and I'm pretty sure he knows it. I can see the headline now - “Vegan Mountain Biker Gored by a Stern Deer”. How ironic. Or maybe it's a she? No, a female deer probably would have ran. Not that I think women can't hold their own, alright now I'm really an asshole. Maybe if there was another deer here for comparison...

One of the super flowy trails in the Coconino National Forest

I'll just turn around and pick another trail. What if he follows me? No, his legs are so long. It would be a very leisurely pace for him, and without small talk he'd probably get bored. Can I look back? Or will that be seen as an invitation to hang out or fight over something we both think we deserve – like the rights to ride on his turf. No, don't look back. What was that noise – perhaps an oncoming ambush? No, I just ran over a pile of wood chips. Okay – what was THAT noise? More wood chips. What is with all of fucking wood chips?

I can't wait to tell Jason about this encounter once I get back to the yurt. How should I word it – maybe, “I saw a beautiful, serene deer basking in the sunlight in the forest”. Nah, he'll know it's bullshit.

We All Have Bad Days

“I haven't been able to make it up this since it rained last week – it's all washed out!”, I shouted, out of breath and pissed off. I stopped to watch my husband, Jason, as he effortlessly rolled to the top of the climb. So, I tried it again and bailed halfway up when my rear tire broke traction and I panicked. I stopped to compose myself and drink some water – it wasn't even 10 a.m. and the sun was searing hot – welcome to Arizona. I heard a cyclist behind me and turned around; he made it up and over, no problem at all. Whatever, he had a way nicer bike anyway. Then I noticed a girl coming up the hill, and it happened – I instantly wished she wouldn't clear the climb. Then it wouldn't just be me, right? Wrong. She owned it, and we happened to be riding the exact same bike. Shit. I halfheartedly attempted it a few more times before I gave up and called to Jason that I wanted to head back. I was mad at myself – for my lack of ability to conquer even the simplest obstacle, for my ruthless mental attack on a woman I've never met, and for my willingness to just say, “fuck it” and give up.

As we crossed under a set of power lines, my seat post zapped my thighs with each pedal stroke – awesome. Everything was infuriating – from the patch kit bouncing around in my seat bag to the sports drink that leaked out of my water bottle's cap and drizzled slowly down my calf. I needed something to wake me up, to punch me in the face and yell, “Hey, asshole! Just ride your bike and be happy!”. Then, like an ironic gift from the mountain bike gods, my front wheel came to a dead stop on a downhill section and I wasn't riding anymore. There was an eery moment of silence before I hit the ground, arms outstretched and bike following shortly behind. I opened my eyes, fairly certain that something on my body must be broken. I could feel the tiny rocks ingrained in my knees, and drops of blood peppered my bike's frame. I clumsily stood up and began walking my bike toward the direction of the trailhead, my heart was pounding and I was strangely smiling. Jason kept saying, “Andrea, just let me take the bike.”, but I wouldn't let go. I started walking up the next hill, but stopped on the edge of the trail to sit, or throw up – I wasn't sure. My left thumb was starting to swell and my forearms were covered in road rash but I was so full of adrenaline that it didn't really matter.

A short injury assessment in the shade

We walked together up the hill, and I decided to ride my bike back to the car since it would be faster. I coasted to the parking lot, barely holding on to the handlebar, having to use mostly my right hand. I was starting to shake as I took my front wheel off to load the bike into the car. A guy parked next to us loading his dogs into the back seat said, “Hey, how was your ri – oh, damn! You fell good!”. He proceeded to tell us a story about his most recent over the bars experience, which happened on a motor scooter in front of a crowd of people. I tried to listen, but put most of my efforts into not puking on his shoes. We got into the car, and I sat there, covered in drying blood and with a navy blue thumb; the first words out of my mouth were, “I'm glad that happened, I needed that”.

Smiling, yet also realizing I had to pick pea gravel out of my skin

Take My Advice

“Look where you want the bike to go.” This is probably the most commonly given mountain biking advice out there. So, why is it so hard to do?

Corners, what a mind fuck. I'm entering a turn and looking at the apex, then all of a sudden I'm in the apex and staring straight down – or more likely at a trail-side cactus that's calling to me like a desert siren. I have vowed to stop this compulsion, but it's easier said than done. It's not just corners for me; hill climbs also like to play games with my head. Motivation turns to frustration as my eyes slowly shift from 20 feet ahead to two. My eyes focus on the trail surface and within seconds I'm obsessing over rear wheel traction and front wheel tracking. I'm zigging and zagging back and forth and somehow manage to hit every rock on the trail.

One of the mini climbs at Papago Park in Tempe, AZ

Today was hill repeat day, and I paused at the bottom of the climb to reaffirm my game plan – look ahead. I dropped down into my easiest gear and started pedaling, with my gaze fixed on a spot about 15 feet ahead of me. I slowly crept up the hill, spinning and staring, spinning and staring. A few times I caught myself starting to look down at my front tire and quickly picked my head back up. It was a strange feeling, everything in my peripheral vision became blurred and I locked my eyes on the crest of the climb. The bike was doing all of the work, I was just turning the pedals. Did I discover some sort of secret? Thinking this must have been a fluke or an out of body episode, I circled back around to the bottom of the hill. Again, I kept my focus and ascending felt like floating. I reached the top, in awe of how much my perceived effort of that climb had changed. I used the same bike, same gear and same cadence that I use every week, but my experience was totally different. Usually I stop to catch my breath, then look down at the beast I just slayed, and pedal off with a smirk. Sometimes, I sit down and try to calm my seemingly uncontrollable breathing. Today, I just kept pedaling.

Corners – you're next.

Practice Makes Progress

That's right folks, we've been duped. Progress, not perfection, is what you get from hard work. And if you're new to something - you're most likely going to suck. Like a lot. But that's okay. Every person you see tearing it up on the trails or at the bike park also sucked at one point. Practice makes you better. Practice makes you faster. Practice makes you stronger. (Daft Punk knows what's up, why mess with a good thing?) Sure- you can buy a "better" bike, lighter parts - the list goes on. A new bike isn't going to make you suck less. I'm not saying it won't make a difference at all - it totally can. But before you run out and spend a ton of money on shit you don't even know if you  need yet, you should probably just ride your bike. Like a lot.

Putting in some work at the Desert Trails Bike Park in Mesa, AZ.

Blisters got you down? Ride more - get calluses.

What Cities Need

My new favorite place. Desert Trails Bike Park. Pump track, skills area, three flow/jump lines – even a toddler pump track. This is what cities need – kids on bikes. Opening weekend the park was packed. Not a single parking space available. Several weeks later, it's Wednesday afternoon around 4PM. Only a few cars are in the parking lot. A dad is teaching his son how to ride a bike, a few guys are practicing on the expert line. My heart sank a little. “Please don't let this place die”, I thought to myself.

I rode a few warm up laps on the beginner trail before heading up to the intermediate line. A few more cars pull into the park. My husband, who just finished running a few laps of the multi-use trail that runs around the park, gets some video of me practicing. I'm on the intermediate start hill, watching a typical breathtaking Arizona sunset when I notice.

Moms are shouting “pedal, pedal!” to their toddlers in the skills area; a dad, “hit the brakes – harder!”. The pump track is bustling with 6-10 year olds falling and getting back up. A child no older than 5 is bragging to a group of adults about a crazy crash he had last week. Pre-teens are riding in from the surrounding neighborhoods. It's Wednesday afternoon around 5:45PM and the parking lot is jammed. This is what cities need – kids on bikes.

Tuesday Gear Review - Club Ride Mountain Surf Short

First things first - I am a HUGE product knowledge dork. I love reading gear reviews and manufacturer catalogs, specifically outdoor clothing related. I also work retail, so I'm used to picking apart apparel constantly. Here's the first Tuesday Gear Review!

Club Ride Mountain Surf Short

Photo Courtesy of http://dirtyjane.com

I've been riding exclusively with these shorts for about a month now and have logged 100+ miles. As a side note - I am using them with the My Alibi Clothing Bloomer Chamois Shorts which is a killer combo. Here's the breakdown on the good, the bad, and the plain old facts.

What I Like: 

• Shorter inseam than most baggy shorts. My husband affectionately refers to these as my "booty shorts" (note - for long climbs/high mileage this slowly turns into a negative, as they can ride up slightly causing my thighs to touch the saddle)
• Wicked lightweight fabric that dries suspiciously quickly, but in the meantime people may or may not think you've peed your pants
• Snap closure - Yay! I have a history of destroying regular buttons and their shitty thread
• 2 large hand pockets (considering the shorter inseam) and 1 zippered right/rear pocket. The zipper pocket is pretty much only good for a car key, energy gel, or that old Motorola Krzr in your junk drawer.

What I Can't Stand:

• Camel toe - let's be honest
• Shorter inseam (told you) won't accommodate all liner/chamois shorts, so be sure to look into this 
• I am a size 10 and take a size Large - which leaves me frustrated, yet again, with the outdoor industry for not offering larger sizes. Chicks who ride bikes have big thighs!

Techy Things:

• Gusseted crotch so you don't split your pants!
• Abrasion resistant and lightweight PowerWeaveTM material 
• 6" inseam

Thanks for stopping by! I would love to get some more feedback from other ladies on these shorts, feel free to comment below!

Cave Creek Independence Day MTB Ride!

What better way for four rad ladies to celebrate freedom than going on a 4th of July mountain bike ride?! The Spur Cross Conservation Area in Cave Creek, AZ proved to be the perfect spot. A haboob rolled through the valley the night before, making for cloudy skies and cooler temperatures.

In addition to tackling some tough climbs and bombing the occasional descent, we learned some lessons along the way. For example...

Sometimes it takes four chicks to change a flat...

CO2 inflators double as a trailside fan! 

Clif Shot Bloks will not solve your broken cleat issues. Trust us.

After 23 miles of rocky desert goodness it was time to regroup for a parking lot leg shot!