I hadn’t been on my “real” mountain bike for about three weeks due to a broken shock lockout and all the logistics that go into having a broken shock lockout, getting the part ordered, receiving the wrong part, getting the right part ordered and having it installed. But today, FINALLY, I was back on the Superfly for a ride on the trails at Mid Michigan Community College.
The first thing I noticed as I entered the singletrack today was how foreign the bike felt; thankfully that didn’t last long and I was soon feeling my old self rolling over the lumpy, rolling, rocky singletrack. Halfway through the Red Trail I noticed something on the trail. I thought it was a multi-tool, so I stopped to pick it up. It turns out it was just a four pack of tire levers [Why?]. I stuffed them in my pocket and continued on until a stick got caught in my front wheel. “Damn, there’s a lot of shit down today, I gotz to be more careful” I thought to myself.
A mile or so down the trail I came upon a rider with a flat. I asked him if he was OK and he said yes, but that he wished he hadn’t lost his tools on the trail. I produced the four-pack of tire levers I had found, and asked if they were his. He joyfully said they were and thanked me multiple times and even asked for a photo of me with his new-found tire levers [These kids and their social media needs].
I was soon back on my way, happy to be rolling through the Michigan woods on my mountain bike when a mile or so later: Clank! Thunk! Whop! Clank!
In my experience, when a stick and a rear derailleur decide to fight, the stick ALWAYS wins. Five miles in and my first mountain bike ride in weeks was over. Drat!
I dug the chain out of the spokes and snapped the bent derailleur so as to produce a multi-thousand dollar, full suspension, carbon fiber scooter to ride/push/walk beside for two miles back to the car.
Obviously this ride did NOT go according to plan, but I figure I was due for something like this to happen. I hadn’t had an incident like this since the last time I did the Lumberjack 100. At least this time I wasn’t out a $175 entry fee, plus lodging, travel, etc.,
I’m sure in some way today was the mountain bike gods paying me back for spending so much time riding dirt roads and pavement this year as well as becoming a non-racing, slacker filled with fat cells and booze. I can accept the fate in which I was dealt. Time to make things right.
Later.