Note: The following is a fiction, as no sane person in their right
mind would attempt to do anything like this.
The Night Riders, by Eugene Chu, 2/15/1997
I was invited to go night riding with a couple of the employees who
worked in the shop from where I recently purchased a bike. They meet
regularly at 8pm every Friday night, and tonight's meeting was in the
parking lot of the local IHOP. The ride was to be in a park that I
have ridden many times before, so I agreed to join them.
I pulled in a few minutes before 8, and looked around to see no one
resembling mountain bikers. "They'll show up soon, I'm sure," I
thought, and began suiting up. On with the shoes (with cleats),
Camelbak (with Cliff Bar), head band (for catching sweat), helmet
(with light), and fanny pack (with home made battery pack for the
helmet light). Then I mounted the home made light setup on my bike.
Just as I got on my bike, three figures flew out of a dark corner of
the lot. It was them: Carl, Shidan, and Brian. I always knew that
they were very skilled and hard core riders, but the little warm-up
acrobatics made me feel that they were leagues ahead of me. They were
jumping, hopping, and sometimes flying over every curb and stair step
they got close to in the lot. They looked like cowboys trying to break
mustangs. Their comrade, Kenny, the fourth horseman, injured his knee
in a previous apocalypse, so he could not join us tonight.
We were very quickly on our way. Cruising down the main street, the
light from the street lamps and passing cars lit our way, so we didn't
have to use our lights. We turned up a side street that I'd been
through before a long time ago. It was wide, straight, and steep.
The last time I came through going the other way, my cycle computer
registered a maximum speed of over 50 mph. Now, we're pumping up at a
much slower pace. As I passed the first block with Brian, I noticed
Carl had already reached the second block, and Shidan was halfway
there. Then they just kept widening the gap.
"Does Carl always hammer like this?" I asked Brian.
"Yes, he's usually leaving everybody behind, but he's actually taking
it easy tonight," Brian replied, wheezing a little. He admitted that
he was way out of shape.
I left him behind as I found my comfortable pace. I watched Shidan as
he turned off the sidewalk into the trail head. A flash of light from
his helmet, then it went out. As I got to the same spot, I could make
out posts beside the trail. I turned my light on and saw a chain in
between, with a small opening to the side. My handlebar hit at both
sides as I tried to squeeze through, so I had to walk it. We were now
on the first trail.
Following Shidan, I turned my light off too. The sky was very clear,
and the stars and Hale-Bopp were clearly visible. Beautiful. The moon
was full and bright, and I could see the trail quite well by its glow.
I was a little relieved, as I was told that this ride was an "epic",
lasting 4 hours in its complete route. I had about an hour and a half
of run time in each of my lights, so I thought maybe I could stretch
them out to 3 hours if I used just one at a time, and turning both on
only when I really needed to. But with so much natural lighting, I
think we'll only be using our lights on descents.
Finally we reach the start of the first single track descent. The
bikers called it Hobbnoxious, in honor of the very obnoxious guy named
Hobb who tried to close it down a few years ago. It starts out looking
innocent enough; not too steep, and it looked almost like just a sloped
field.
Lights on. Each of us looked like an advertisement for NightRider;
with the same light on each helmet and, except for my home made setup,
the same light on the handle bars, and various versions of factory and
custom battery packs. The side of the hill lit up like it was
daytime.
Carl led the way down, and I followed behind everyone else, not wanting
to slow any of them down. I kept up with them for all of 50 feet
before they started to get away from me like I was standing still. I
had never been on this trail before, and the conditions were different
from what I was used to. Since this was not a popular trail due to its
difficulty, it was overgrown with vegetation. I had a hard time just
seeing the trail, which at times was no more than 6 inches wide. So I
kept bouncing off the brushes on either side, and occasionally falling
over because the front tire would get snagged in a bush. It was quite
frustrating, as I'm sure I've ridden trails in worse conditions before,
but I just could not get into it tonight.
Occasionally, I would look up to see three pools of light somewhere in
the distance ahead and below me, weaving about the bushes. Each time I
looked up, they were farther away, until I couldn't see them anymore.
Finally, I rounded a turn, and saw the plains below, and as I swept my
helmet light, I caught them standing off to the distance waiting for
me. I moved on slowly.
Then a voice said: "Look out, chute!"
A second voice said: "Scary chute!"
A third voice said: "Really scary chute!"
I Looked down to see dusty section that was much steeper than anything
else on the trail. I decided that I had better walk it.
As I approached them, I was reminded of the first rule of night riding
with others: Always turn off your lights as you approach them, as the
lights are very blinding.
We continued in the dark on a truck trail toward the entrance of the
park. Then we followed the main path of the park to a trail called
Meadows Trail. I've ridden this trail before, and I usually have to
get off and walk it about 1/3 of the way up due to its steepness. Carl
led again, and we all started pumping away. I noticed that we were
traversing many switch-backs, none of which were there the last time I
came through. I guess the park rangers put it in because the old
trail, which had been one long continuous curve down the mountain, was
too difficult for most people to walk up.
However, the new trail wasn't exactly paved, and there were ruts and
loose dirt at every turn. I have always had a hard time going up steep
switch backs, and tonight was no exception. I had to get off and push
my bike around most of them. I looked up, and Carl had his light on
again, and was at least one and a half switch-backs ahead, with Shidan
between us. Again, they seemed to get further ahead each time I looked
up.
At some point, the trail straightened out, and we were on its original
steep rise. I could see Carl way up ahead, getting further away, while
Shidan was much closer to me, struggling up. Suddenly, Shidan caught
his tire on something, and his bike made a sudden right hander that put
him perpendicular to the path. He got off, picked up the bike, and
walked the rest of the way. I had been pushing my bike already, and I
just kept on going.
We rested at the top, waiting for Brian. I asked Carl if he actually
rode up the whole trail.
"Yes, but I had to dab (put a foot down) twice."
"Carl, you're an animal!"
"The first time that I cleared this hill, I actually blacked out and
collapsed just as I got to the top." He commented.
"Isn't that really bad for the brain cells?"
"Yeah, but it's hard to tell with Carl." Shidan responded.
We started on the next descent. They called this trail Sumac, for all
the poison sumac that they had to clear when they first broke this
trail.
"Yes, we made this trail, and the one next to it that you'll see as you
get to the bottom."
More foliage covered narrow single track with tight turns, more
tumbling through bushes, more cursing at my frustrations. More of
those pools of light in the distance red-shifting away from me.
At one point, I encountered a big rock, with about a 3 foot drop off on
the other side into some ruts. Again, I'm frustrated at my level of
fear, and I jam on the brakes to a halt, falling over into a bush. I
carefully walked down this rock that I think I could have cleared had I
been expecting it.
Presently, a voice out of the darkness: "Stop! Walk the rest of the
way."
I looked further to see another really steep section about 20 feet
long, then nothing. I slowly stepped down the section to see about 10
feet of an even steeper slope. I slid down that on my feet, using my
bike for support, to find a 5 foot drop off. I jumped, taking the bike
with me, and was able to catch my footing on the bottom. I was in a
narrow canyon where another trail dumped in next to the one I just got
off. My ride leaders were standing on a small plateau about 10 feet
above the bottom on the other side, a third trail.
"You're in the canyon we call 'No Exit', and the only way out is up."
With some difficulty, I climbed up the rocky cliff to where they were
standing and rested.
I asked them: "How do you even try to ride that last section?"
Carl responded: "Grab a handful of rear brake, feather the front only
when absolutely necessary, scoot as far back as you can, and pray to
whatever god you believe in to not land on your face."
"We call this trail 'Stair Master'. It's only about 400 feet to the
top, but it is very steep, and very loose at some parts."
"Let's go!" Carl prodded.
Shidan offered instructions on how to carry the bike: Grab the seat
tube and a fork leg, lift the bike over your head, and place the down
tube on your Camelbak for support. Let the front wheel dangle so that
it's pointed down. Now, the bike should almost balance. It did.
We started to march up. Again, within seconds, I lost sight of Carl
and Shidan, and Brian was a little ahead of me. I have never used a
Stairmaster before, and again, this was a completely new exercise for
me. I think I took about 50 steps before my knees started to feel like
Jello. I felt as though every piece of vegetation was trying to grab
the bike, making forward progress that much more difficult. I stopped,
trying to catch my breath. I heard Brian ahead of me say "Don't stop,
it will seem twice as hard to start up again". I continued, finally
catching up to him. He continued, seemingly able to take each step
with little effort, with his bike on his shoulder. I couldn't keep up
the pace, and I stopped again.
Due to the steepness, each step had to be two to three feet high, and
due to the looseness, each step was only about 50% efficient. I think
my bike weighed almost 35 pounds at this time, loading me down in ways
that I'm not used to, and I had to put it down. I tried moving up
slowly, but I was resting for about a minute for every 15 seconds that
I climbed. My lungs felt constricted, like they were about to burst,
and I could feel my heart pounding in the base of my teeth. I tried to
move on again, dragging my bike up by whatever part I could grab, and
pushing it along side for support when there was room.
Another set of steep, narrow steps, and the bike was back on my
shoulder. I tried to take the step, but felt myself falling backward.
I grabbed a bush, it came out of the hill. I felt my footing give
away, and I dove forward, face first into the dirt to stop this sudden
descent.
Calm down, try it again. I managed to crawl up this step. I hear
Brian in the distance above me: "Don't give up now, you're about half
way up." "Oh good!"
This repeats the rest of the way up, and I finally feel the terrain
level out. Muscles in my legs have started to spasm, so I had to rest
crouching down.
"I think my legs are cramping up," I moaned, seeing my breath in my
helmet light.
"That's OK, it happens to everyone that we bring up here the first
time. Turn your light off until you're ready to go again."
"Oh, sorry."
Finally, I'm able to stand again. Again, Carl said "Let's go!"
Lights on again. I could actually see steam come off of my shirt. We
go down Red Rider, a trail that I've not been on for over a year. More
bush whacking, and again I watch those pools of light drift away from me.
I remember the end of this one; a recurring theme with these guys:
steep, rutty, dusty sections at the end of each trail. As I approached
it, I could see them waiting for me at the main trail of the park. I
had actually cleared this part of the trail before. But this time, I
had absolutely no self confidence left, so again I stumbled down with my
bike at my side.
"What can I say, guys, but I'm a wimp." They all laughed.
I was ready to head back, but Carl and Shidan wanted to finish the ride
with a couple more up-downs through some trails that I was very familiar
with. Brian also felt that he's had enough, so he and I started back.
Back at home, in the shower, I felt the sting of about 100 cuts and
scratches on each leg from all the bushes that I had whacked. I think
I may even have a touch of poison oak somewhere. I had been out for
less than 3 hours, and I was spent. I thought about the ride, and I
think I'd like to do some of those trails again, but maybe in the day
time so I could at least see more of where I'm going. I think I'll
skip the descent into "No Exit" next time, as I really would not like
to go up "Stairmaster" again any time soon.
(
geocities.com/eycchu)