Marc Kitteringham
Gearing up for a long ride: chamois liner, jeans, marino wool cycling socks, t-shirt, fleece active sweater, rainjacket, cycling cap, helmet, windstopper gloves, hiking shoes. I made espresso, filled my waterbottle and grabbed some granola bars. My toolkit was packed already, camera in the handlebar bag, phone, wallet, knife... shit, I was forgetting something. Right, my keys. Out the door, spinning to the meetup.
My ride for the day, before the mud.
The weather had been holding for a few days and I felt confident enough to change out my studded tires for a pair of mudders. I whirred relatively noiselessly down the road, remembering what it felt like to ride without the constant shaking and noise of studded tires. I was getting stoked again for summer riding, though I might've been jumping the gun a bit.
The others rolled up fairly soon after I got there. I was riding with Mick, Jackie and Shane. We compared packing strategies, talked about our route, whether we were going to get coffee or not, then started ripping towards the residential areas. We found a trail that lead from the quiet of suburbia to the river valley. Most rides end up here because other than the urban sprawl, there wasn't much exciting riding in the city. I'd ridden our chosen trail many times through the summer. It was a nice flowy paved descent, great for climbing and that feeling of release as you tuck down and ride through the trees. However, in the winter the steepest part of the descent became a sheer ice rink. Imagine a sheet of ice at a 30 degree angle. That was our route. We slipped and slid down the treacherous slope to the more suitable pavement below.
First sign of spring
I've done most of my riding alone. Whether it is a commute to work, or a fit of frustration that only ripping through a trail can calm down, the solitude and meditative quality of riding has always made me go at it alone. I can ride at my own pace, decide when to turn around, or when to turn into an unknown path. I don't have to worry about people keeping up, or stopping for chats when all I want to do is ride on into the distance. More and more, though, I am starting to see the appeal of riding with a group of people. When you ride alone, everything is a struggle. It becomes a matter of you trying to beat the road and go faster, harder and longer than you have before. The ride is a challenge that must be beaten. Riding with buddies puts the fun back into the sport. It allowed us to goof off, show off weird spots, tell stories, razz eachother and push eachother to ride better. The challenge aspect is still there, but it becomes more of an adventure than a conquest.
We came upon a bridge. Mick had been elected the leader of this little outing and for him "adventure riding" took on a whole new meaning. The bridge we came to crossed the North Saskatchewan river. We were taken to a secret place that allowed us to go up and underneath the bridge, crossing way over the river under the thundering traffic above.
After a bit of easy multi-use path riding, we came upon a mother of a hill. This was the kind of hill that is often on difficult Cyclocross races. It was covered in thick brown mud, ice and had about a 45 degree slope in some places. I am starting to think that I am a kind of hill rat, whenever I see the ground starting to rise above me I get a bit excited. I am pretty good at climbing, I like the burn in my legs, the deep breaths, and the pain involved in getting my ass up the hill. This hill was a doozy. Honestly, it was one of the best hills I've climbed in Edmonton and I'll probably be back soon.
After dicking around a bit in the woods some more, exploring, talking about trails, giving eachother a hard time the snow began to fall. The weather had cooperated with us fairly well for most of the ride, but our luck ran out. As the flakes got bigger, the quicker we decided to head for home. The ride was coming to an end. All in all we rode around 35 km and got to explore some places I never would have thought I'd visit.
Just out for a rip with the boys.