Queen Teresa lived at the center of the community; her benevolence was renowned from the lowest tunnel to the end of their territory at the edge of the forest. She was mother to all the members of the tribe, except for a handful of workers who were still living well beyond their normal life span, they were known as The Sons of Marian. Jeremiah was one of the long-lived ones, a common worker ant, a dedicated soul who always did his duty to his Queen and community. His brother Merick, who was incubated in the pod next to Jeremiah, was a different sort, he was calculating and conniving, the sort who is never satisfied with leadership, no matter how good the governance. Merick knew his days were coming to an end; however, he envisioned a better life for those who would follow in the future of the colony. Queen Teresa came from another ideology, a colony on the other side of the forest, somewhere over there, where the humans live, they were known as The Warriors of The Mist, feared by every colony in the entire hectare. They were known to be a tribe that was always at war, the current conflict was with the human who they call the oppressor of the vanquished. The legend goes that Queen Teresa followed a scent message sent on the air by Queen Marion, the scent message was weak, but Queen Teresa was of superior strength and understanding, she, by her great wisdom was able to read it, the message is said to have told that Queen Marion was dying. She arrived just in time to save Marian’s colony known as The Diggers of Black Dirt. Merick resented Queen Teresa simply because she was not one of their own, even though in these circumstances succession to the throne, is commonly given to a Queen born of another tribe. Merick became obsessed with his hatred for her and made every effort to undermine her leadership. It would be his final effort to replace her with a Queen from the genetic lines of Marian. In a tunnel deserted in times long past, sat one large pod, one that all The Sons of Marian knew of, except Jeremiah, who was deemed too simple to keep the secret. Plotting to replace a living Queen would be considered the highest form of treachery, even speaking of it would result in one’s head being removed by one of the large guardian ants whose mandibles were three times the size of those of a worker. Merick plotted and schemed with all The Sons of Marion, they concluded that they needed to prove that she was unworthy to be their Queen if she was to be overthrown, they needed some proof, this proof need not be truth. The council of The Sons of Marian called Jeremiah to their embrace and told him of a great mission that he and only he had the fortitude to accomplish, being one of trust, he accepted the mission without doubt in his brothers. The task was to carry a message to The Warriors of The Mist, a simple task for a simple ant. Jeremiah was illiterate, he could not read the complicated scent messages that ants of higher standing passed back and forth, but he could carry them. It was the dead of night when Jeremiah was sent on his way through an old tunnel leading to the surface. He made his way to the end of the forest, the glow of the sun cut long shadows as it rose in the sky, he journeyed long without stopping. The shadows were laying in the opposite direction when he arrived at the colony of The Warriors of The Mist. He was quickly discovered by the guardians of the colony, they read the scent message that he carried, they didn’t report the message to the council of leaders in the colony, instead, they led him to the private quarters of the distinguished guardians of the Warrior colony. Torrid, the leader of the guardians was a very large ant, bigger than any that Jeremiah had ever seen. Torrid led Jeremiah to his personal quarters where he was fed sweet nectar containing strange substances that he had never tasted before, the scent of humans was strong, by the next day he had grown a full size bigger. Torrid was as wise as he was large, the schemes of the Sons of Marian where transparent to him, the message that Jeremiah carried showed weakness, an opportunity for an easy conquest. Torrid knew of Teresa, she had left the colony before he emerged from his pod, however he learned of her from the elders, he was taught about the politics that she took with her when she was run out of the colony. His hatred for her type was widely known in The Warriors of The Mist tribe. Jeremiah and his message were kept secret from the rest of the colony until the guardians could come up with a plan to spin the information in such a way that it would cause panic in the masses. Torrid sent his manager of communications to wander about the colony with a scent message attached to him. The message said, “the tribe known as The Diggers of Black Dirt was in turmoil because of the horrific leadership of Queen Teresa, rebellion was eminent, and the violence was most likely to spread out to other colonies.” A great fear travelled through the tribe; it was within a quarter of the suns movement that Torrid was called before the council. It took little convincing to compel the council to send their forces to quell the revolt and establish a righteous queen. The message that Jeremiah had carried to the Warriors spoke of failed leadership, weakness and discontent in the members of the tribe, these messages were lies of course. However, the lies gave justification to the attack led by Torrid who hated the feel-good leadership of The Diggers of Black dirt. Torrid expressed his gratitude to Jeremiah for making the long journey carrying such an important message for their colony and asked him to return with a message of equal importance. Jeremiah set out as the sun came up, it cast long shadows toward his own colony, his return trip was much quicker than his journey to the Warriors. He arrived as the sun was laying shadows back toward the place he had come from. Jeremiah had laid a direct scent route back to his own colony, he unknowingly led a dark force of destruction behind him. The guardians of his colony were quick to read the scent messages he carried. Panic ensued. The guardians abandoned their posts and ran toward the forest, their flight was cut short by a group of large ants who cut their heads off with ease. The warriors met with little resistance when they conquered the peaceful tribe that was once called The Diggers of Black Dirt. By the end of that same day all the leaders of The Diggers of Dirt were slayed. All The Sons of Marion were executed at the top of the main tunnel, everyone in the tribe was forced to watch. Queen Teresa was devoured in her nest by the guardians from The Warriors of The Mist, the pod hidden by The Sons of Marion was uncovered and injected with a poison brought from the human nest. A new Queen from the Warrior tribe arrived the next day, she would be known as Garish, Queen of The Warriors of Black Dirt, her rule was harsh and ungiving. Her first order was to end the existence of the weak, the old and any ant with any deformity whatsoever. Those individuals made up ten percent of the old tribe, their carcasses were consumed by her new army of guardians she called, The Defenders of the republic. The colony under her rule grew to be twice its size within one full cycle of the four progressions of the sun. The new wealth brought great prosperity to those who were considered to be of higher standings, but it would not last, she had reproduced new workers at too great a rate, their genetic makeup was week which resulted in poor yields in the harvest. The colony collapsed, the workers turned on the elite and devoured them. Queen Garish prepared a desperate scent message and delivered it to the wind. It said, “my glorious reign has come to end, my magnificent kingdom will rise again with a new Queen, my council awaits your glorious response.” A new Queen from the colony known as The Conquerors of The Hectar arrived within 24 risings and fallings of shadows cast by the sun. She wandered the tunnels and found only a few still alive. She came to a statue in the center of the colony, a plaque at its base read. “Jeremiah, hero of the revolution.” She founded a new colony which she would call, The Heros of Jeremiah and she would assume the name, Queen Jeremenia, and the sun rose, and the sun fell, and the sun rose, and the sun fell, the history of tribes of the hectare continued on into perpetuity.
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Who hasn't joked when a guy in an oversized pickup truck goes by blasting black smoke and rattling store windows, "he's obviously compensating for something", isn't he? Well maybe he is or perhaps he's just a big kid, but then again, could it be that he's compensating for his immaturity, is that what drives the truck? My dad used to say "if you need to prove you're a real man, you're probably not". He always had the best sayings. He was a man who felt no need to prove himself, he was clearly living his own definition of how a man should act. That's just how he rolled, he never drove a truck. My dad was 45 when I was born, I only knew him as an old man. Aging can be a test of a mans metal, both mentally and physically. It's so easy to say "I can't do that anymore because I'm too old", but what if you never accepted the notion that you are supposed to slow down because of the numbers on your birth certificate. What if you fought aging everyday like it's a disease that's trying to bring you to your knees. I recently did some big rides on my mountain bike in the Eastern Townships of Quebec. I rode Mount Sutton and Bromont; both destinations were a test of my fitness just days before my 62nd birthday. Age wasn't going to stop me, I still have what it takes you know! On my very first climb up Sutton I met a group of friendly old guys who were more to than happy to talk to me in English. They were on the top of the mountain getting ready to ride the aptly named trail "Grand Seduction". I'm confident in saying that they were interested in engaging me in conversation because they, like me, were sporting some debonair grey hair. I'm very self assured in my riding, I'm pretty good for an old guy you know, so.. being the rooster that I am, I asked them which way to the trail with the black rating. They were happy to point me in the right direction with some sound advice on which trail lines to avoid. With the business of where I'm from and what I wanted to ride dealt with, the one guy in the back said "so the important question," he said with his great French Canadian accent, " how old are you? "Well I'm turning 62 in a few days". The quiet man with the gray locks then announced the ages of all his pals, "he is 65, that guy there is 64 and that other fellow is 63 and me, I'm 65", he said with pride. We all agreed that it was the biking that had keep us young and gave us the ability to keep doing what is supposed to be a young man's thing. A group of younger standing nearby were listening: those dudes were smiling. I wondered, are they laughing at the crazy old guys or did they see us as an example of what their future could be. I announced that I was going to go find that trail with the black rating. The quiet one said with a tone that seemed concerning "goodbye". It wasn't the word but his tone that caught me off guard. I laughed and said " I don't like the finality in the way you said that". There was laughter and then he said, "I suppose I should say, have a good ride". There was more laughter as I rolled off to meet my fate. Did you know that the trail ratings in Quebec are not the same as they are in Ontario. Turns out a black rating in Quebec is more like as double black diamond in Ontario, who knew? I survived that first run down the hill with my old manhood intact. I was on my second climb up Mount Sutton and was growing somewhat tired of the arduous climb however I was patting myself on the back. "Just watch me go, not bad for an ole dude" I bragged to myself because I was passing everyone going up the hill, well not everyone. He must have been about 25 years and his body fat percentage was likely around 3 percent. Being a much younger and smaller man than me, his power to weight ratio was considerably better than mine. He passed me as though he had a motor, but he didn't, I checked his bike as he rode by. "Yeah well, I'm an ole dude, he's a young guy", I thought to myself. I got to the top and rode "Grand Seduction" The trail is in itself an epic ride that required the use of all my skills. A blue trail in Quebec, a black diamond by my provinces standards. That young kid who passed me was long forgotten by the time I got to the bottom of the hill. Strength and manhood are supposed to be synonymous aren't they? It was my third climb up the hill and there he was again, I really don't like that guy. But he quickly passed me and went out of view, very quickly because I was on my third climb, each one lasting about 30 minutes. I happily passed so many other riders who were much younger than me. Some of those riders were a quarter of my age, others were half my age and even a few 10 year old's in the mix. I passed them all, all except that one guy who I hate. There was another rider who was ahead of me further up the hill passing lots of people on route to the top. Ah, someone to compete with I thought. "I got to catch this guy". Eventually I closed the gap on the rider who was steaming up the hill faster than most, well except for me and that guy I hate. I spent a lot of energy to close the gap so I decided to stay on his wheel and catch my breath before I passed with a victory known only to me. "On your left" I proudly beckoned. She made room and I passed, Whoa wait, what, it's a woman! I looked into her eyes as I passed and seen the face of a woman who was beaming with energy and pride. She was likely 70 years old but only the wrinkles in her face showed the passing of time. She showed no sign of aging when we both passed a woman who was in her early thirties. I rolled up the hill and she slowly fell behind me and I lost sight of her. I wonder if she had to prove her manhood. I guess not right, she's a woman after all. I wondered who she was in life, what was her story and what drove her to keep going. Such an inspiration to everyone she passed on that 8km billy goat climb over rocks, roots, drops and loose ground. "Maybe she was an emergency responder, maybe even a firefighter" I thought, "or perhaps she was a stay at home mom and now someone's granny". Maybe she was strong and brave, like a real man. I'll never know. I was at the bottom of the hill contemplating another trip up. I had a few ounces of water and half of an energy bar which I finished off quickly. A man who I would later know as Jerome spoke to me in French. "I'm sorry sir I don't speak French" I responded, Jerome was quick to switch to English. He wanted to get to the top of the hill but didn't know which trail to take. "I'll take you up if you like". With his agreement, my commitment to climb another 900 feet of vertical, was set. Our friendship only lasted about an hour but I got a pretty good profile of this old guy, he was 50. The engineer was camping nearby with his family who didn't participate in the sport of crazy people. He lived a comfortable life in Montreal with his wife the architect. Jerome was a cyclist but the belly showed he had not been putting on as many miles as he was putting on pounds. The climb to the top was slower than my first three rounds but I wasn't complaining, I was happy to have an excuse to go slower. Jerome however, was giving it his all. He asked me on one occasion if we were near the top. I said yes even though we still had another 200 vertical feet to climb. I advised poor old Jerome that the downhill run would be worth all the effort. When we got to the top he thanked me for pushing him to keep going. His tired eyes showed me that he had completely expended all of his energy, he was spent. "So how old are you" he asked. "62" I mumbled. At the top of the mountain Jerome paused to look at the map on his phone and said he would like to descend down "Grand Seduction". Having been there and done that I said "that would trail is a lot harder than you might think"., so I convinced him to take the flow trail down the hill. We rode down that beautifully made trail, flying like two geezers with wings. I stopped half way down to allow my friend to catch his breath. The worn down tired eyes were gone, he was beaming with joy. We started out again and then Jerome said " I'm going to get a better bike, I forgot what I was missing and these new flow trails are soo much fun". We arrived at the bottom of the hill. "62" he said, "I guess I got a good twelve years to catch up to you" he joked. I helped my new friend find his way back to the campground where his company was surely waiting by now, "I have a story to tell over dinner" were his parting thoughts. I went back to my truck, I was spent. I wonder if Jerome bought that new bike.. I wonder if he knows that aging is something you shouldn't resign yourself to, but on the other hand I hope he doesn't need to prove he's still got it, you know, like a real man and all that stuff. Lets go back in time because history does matter. Back in the day, shortly after the invention of the wheel, my friend and I would take our ten speed bikes into the forest and do something that would best compare to cyclocross. 10 speed bikes were actually 5 speed bikes by current standards, we had 5 gears in the back and two in the front, two times five is ten. Our department store 10 speed bikes were no match for the abuse we were giving them and they frequently broke. The wheels were the first thing to bend or develop a flat leaving us with a long walk home. Riding in the forest had it's appeal and we used to talk up what kind of bike we would need to stand up to trail riding. The fantasy bike should have heavy duty rims and big tires and maybe regular handlebars. It should have been obvious that fat tire cruiser bikes would have met our need but we just didn't see it; maybe it was because only granny's rode those types of bikes back in the day. Years past and we both stopped riding bikes and entered the world of the adult where we drove cars. I was walking downtown Kitchener when I came across a bike shop on King Street which sold bikes and locks, the name on the sign read Brauns Bicycles. In the front window, there it was on display, the bike my friend and I talked about, they called it a mountain bike. Apparently someone didn't just talk about it, they actually made one and starting selling them. Those first mountain bikes were just cruisers adapted to ride off road terrain. Trails as we know them today did not exist, they hadn't been built. In this area the first mountain bikes were used on existing hiking trails or double track in parks. Bikes began to change as the sport developed and builders starting creating single track. In time, front suspension forks were introduced, frame geometry began to change and handlebars went to a standard 18 inches wide (about 460MM). When serious cross country racing began riders were looking for an edge to go faster than their competitors. Since a lot of those racers came from road riding they went with a setup that was almost exactly the same as their road bike. If you cut the drops off a set of road bars you will be left with a bar that is about 18 inch wide so that was the logical bar width to go fast. Then raise the seat to get maximum leg extension, put on a long stem to make sure the rib cage is not restricted and you are ready to race. This setup was the norm for a decade or two. Over time trails changed and the bikes had to keep up with the demand to ride over bigger features and more intense trails. The components became stronger and yet at the same time became lighter, suspension improved and the riding position changed to a more upright seated position. All of these improvements led to riders being able to ride more aggressively. In the last seven years or so we have seen some of the biggest changes in bike setup. Being old school, I have been resisting those changes but I am slowing adapting. One thing I was holding out on was going to wide handlebars because I have spent so many years in the go fast position and I didn't want to give up any speed. Gradually I moved up to 650mm and I thought I was keeping up with technology but riders are now riding crazy wide bars. I recently bought a fat bike which came with 710mm bars. After spending a winter on my fatty I decided that I like wide bars. A few weeks ago I got some ribbing about my 650mm bars on my cross country bike so I decided I better get with the times and bought some 725mm bars. I know, I know, 725 isn't considered wide anymore but they feel wide for me. I've done a few rides on the cross country bike since I installed the new bars and have noticed some huge changes in how the bike handles. There are some pros and some cons. The cons are that the wide bars do not work as well as the 650 bars on old school sections of the Puslinch trails, there are some tight and twisty sections in that trail system that were built for the bikes of the nineties. I found that I had to steer more from the hip and drop the frame of the bike into the corners. It requires a bit more physical effort but I'm sure in time I will get my speed back up in those sections of trail. Another con is steering at low speeds is much more twitchy but I think I'll adapt to the steering change in a short time period. Of course if you are a weight weenie there is a small weight penalty to consider. The pros of wider bars surely outweigh the small cons. The very first thing I noticed was that the bike felt bigger and I somehow felt more powerful. It gave me more leverage over the bike which gave me better bike handling. This increased bike control made landing jumps, clearing obstacles and rolling rough terrain easier. Banking into fast sweeping turns is far better with the wider bars because that extra 75mm allowed me to lower the bike and not my body into the turn. One of the biggest surprises for me was in how well the bike climbed. On my first few climbs I got half way up the hill and realized that I was in a gear that was far too big. The wide bars had given me a sense of greater power which meant I started up the hill in an attack mode. Once I realized that the wider bars made me feel like superman, which I am not, I readjusted my approach to gearing and cranked up the steep hills with what seemed like less effort. Overall I would say that going to bigger bars does improve performance, and therefore size does matter. Turkey Point trails are quickly becoming a first choice ride destination in Southwestern Ontario. This trail system is a little off the beaten track for most of us who usually head north to find a cool new place to ride which is likely why the trails have gone unnoticed by many for so long. This has changed because the word has gotten out that the Turkey Point trail system is a fun place to ride and it is a relatively painless drive to get there, unlike ride destinations north of Toronto which often require a much larger time commitment to travel.
I always imagined that the trails there would be boring and featureless based on the observations I made camping or spending time on the beaches in that area. When I heard about riding in Turkey Point I made the assumption that the trails would be all flat and the trail system would be too small to make the journey worthwhile. I was wrong. It is true that there are very flat trails there, but if you ride away from the road and the Provincial Park the landscape takes on a completely different feel where hills hidden in the back forty show up. My first ride at Turkey Point was a snowy group ride on my fat bike back in March. Some trail systems are good for fat bike riding in the snow and some are better than most, Turkey Point is near the top of the list for fat biking in winter conditions. Fat bike riders are looking for interesting trails with fewer hills and stable soil conditions that can bear the brunt of wheels in less than perfect weather conditions. This is exactly what I found there; trails that seem to be good no matter what our crazy climate throws at them. These perfect conditions are due to the fact that the trail system is built on sandy soil which allows water to absorb into the land rather than needing to run off. This forest will be one of my first picks for a winter fat bike ride destination. This past weekend I did my second fat bike ride at Turkey Point because I had such a good time on my first ride. Let me back up a little. The trails at my usual riding location, The Hydrocut, have been wet this spring so riding there was not an option due to the trails being closed. I asked the ridership on the Defiant Facebook Page about conditions at Turkey Point. A friend I have never met informed me that conditions would be dry there even though it had rained there that very morning. I had heard legends of how this trail system drys up like magic but I was skeptical. Other riders also responded that trail conditions would be dry so I headed off with my fatty to the trails. I was very surprised with what I had found there, dry trails shortly after a rain. Not just acceptable conditions; no these were summer conditions with no mud to be found anywhere. I started out on the tight and twisty trails on flat land and then worked my way north toward the more hilly trails. All of the trails were in great shape and worked so well for me on the fatty. I found myself on something called the Jimmy Joker which is rated expert. This is an old school trail heading straight down into a fairly large valley, and what goes down must go up. The trails in that area are a lung burner even for the more seasoned riders, something I wasn't expecting from that landscape. Any trail builder will tell you that you can only build trails that lend themselves to the terrain. Builders are somewhat forced to work with what they are given. The builders at Turkey Point were given some flat land with a pine forest which they used to build tight, twisty, fun rolling trails, perfect for all year fat biking. They were also given a deciduous forest with rolling hills which they used to build some single track with lots of speed followed up with some challenging climbs. Did I mention that I assumed Turkey Point was not going to give me enough challenge, I was wrong about that too. Ride number two was a blast and I had only seen about one third of the trails. The very next day I found myself with some unplanned time on my hands and an offer to ride. So my pal and I headed back to Turkey Point at my urging. This time I took my light weight cross country race bike. The trail system did not disappoint me on the skinny tire bike either. Speeds were higher but the flowy trail system seemed to be as perfect for the 23 pound bike as it was for the 33 pound bike. Not sure how that's possible but hey I just went with the flow and had a blast. On that third ride I found I really liked Pile Driver and the trails in the area of the Dump Trails. Trail systems often develop over time with many different builders creating trails which in most cases leads to some connectivity issues. These lead to navigation problems which exist on every trail system. Riders learn the best way to connect the dots so that they get the most out of their riding experience on any given trail system. T.P. has these same issues however the local Club has created a very comprehensive map which is available on line to help riders find their way. They have also responded with very good signage and with full sized maps at kiosks at key intersections. And if you still can't find your way even with all that mapping help, you can use the Trail Forks app on your digital ball and chain. Before you leave home go to the club web site. See links below. Overall I would expect this trail system to grow in popularity and likely become far better known by the ridership in South Western Ontario. Turkey Point has moved onto my must ride locations list for this summer and I'm looking forward to exploring the rest of the 72km long trail system. All bike trail systems run on donations, sponsorship and membership fees to make it happen for you. I checked off all the boxes and paid the 35 bucks to become a member and support this cool trail system. This morning a friend of mine asked me how I was enjoying the new fat bike. We were the middle of building a new section of trail on our beloved Hydrocut trail system; normally I don’t like to stop working to chat because we only have a few hours to get the job done and building new trail is very important work don’t you know. This was a very important question to this ole bike rider so I stopped to reflect on how much I have enjoyed riding my fatty. My answer went something like this.” I love that thing; I rode my cross country bike this week and I was all over the trail on that light bike. The skinny tires just don’t hold a line on wet leaves and roots. I got kind of spoiled with how well the fat bike handles fall riding conditions” I finished up by saying “I can’t wait to see what it does in the snow”.
The fat bike is clearly the right choice when riding in the fall but I also found that there isn’t anything that those fat tires can’t roll over with ease whatever the trail conditions. It also can hit jumps and features as well as any cross country bike. So reason number one to own a fat bike is; it is unstoppable no matter what the trail conditions are. I have yet to ride the fat bike in the winter so I can only go by what friends are telling me about riding in snow. I have been told that I am going to find it will blast through snow with low tire pressure and I will find it kind of floats; now that sounds like fun. Winter is long and riding opportunities in the dark months are few and far between but the fat bike promises to extend my riding season to 12 months a year. Fat bike riding is becoming a completely new type of riding and it is attacking more and more riders each riding season, so much so that local bike trail systems are now open year round with fat bike trails groomed just for the purpose of riding fat bikes. So reason number two is; the fat bike turns snow into winter riding fun and extends the riding season. Of course there is always the cool factor which as we know cyclist look cool right, well maybe not so much in spandex and brightly coloured jerseys; relax I’m just kidding, well maybe a little. Fat bikes just look cool which by default makes the rider look cool. The ride to the trails from my house is short but the route takes me through a busy traffic circle via a crosswalk. The attention the bike gets is obvious as drivers whip their head around to see what the heck that was that just rode past. No question, fat bikes turn heads. Looking cool is important which is reason number three; fat bikes are cool. Then there is the “N” factor. The N factor equation is usually quoted when a rider is asked how many bikes they need. The answer is N plus one; or the number of bikes you already have plus one more. The N factor rewards the rider with a new toy which keeps riding interest growing in the individual. So reason number four is; you can never have too many bikes. There is something about fat bikes that levels the playing field. Riders tend to take the riding experience less seriously than they would if they were riding a lightweight cross country bike. Even the fastest riders will for some reason adopt a cool mind set and ride slower when on a fatty, they seem to be more content to ride at a pace that is suited to anyone on the ride. This dimensioning of the need for speed increases social interaction on the ride. Riders of all levels are happy to ride together and just socialize. So reason number five is; fat bike rides are more sociable. Well there are five good reasons to get out this fall and winter on a fat bike, I know I will be. Hope to see on the trails at The Hydrocut this winter. Human beings are social creatures and this particular part of being human is exhibited in so many ways. We like to form groups of likeminded people and get together to talk about what makes us like minded, it creates a sense of belonging, and we all want to belong. So when ones social group goes down a new road they are sure to follow, as not to left behind. Being human myself I understand this concept and try to adhere to the social norms of my group, lest I be cast out. I’m a cyclist, and that puts me into a huge social group that divides into many subcultures such as road, mountain, all mountain, downhill, cross country, cyclocross, single speed, track, freeriding, freestyle, dirt jump, BMX and now there is this new fringe group which my particular group of peers seems to be leaning toward; riding fat tire bikes. Being a human in a social group I bowed to the new convention and bought a fat tire bike or as they are commonly call “a Fatty” I remember the first time I seen a Fatty, my first impression was one of shock and awe followed by why would you want to do that, surely it must be slow. As more and more members of my social group started riding these behemoths I began to think there must be something to this new craze. Over the last few winters, trail system organizers in my area began grooming trails, just for riding Fatties in the snow. Starting to sound like fun, thought I. I started shopping the different bike manufactures online to compare bikes to see which model would give me the most bang for my buck. I am a big fan of Rocky Mountain Bikes so I decided it would be a Rocky Mountain Blizzard, the photograph of the bike looked lean and mean, a photography trick I would later realize. They posed the Blizzard on an angle that was flattering to the wide profile bike. Standing next to the bike in a store leaves one with a different point of view. The Blizzard has a presence in a room like no other bike I have ever owned before. It makes a statement, I am large and I am in charge and if you mess with me, I will roll over you. This effect is greatly exaggerated in a small room like my workshop where it demeans my other bikes. The first few rides on the Fatty were a lot of fun and the attention I got gave me some type of childlike satisfaction. When riding on pavement the fat tires rumble like a 4X4 truck and when they hit the dirt they grab onto the soil like there is glue on the tires. Hitting roots and rocks that would normally give me a jolt on my regular mountain bike does nothing to this beast. I decided I should try to jump my Fatty. To my surprise the Fatty humped over the rock like it was made for it, but it wasn’t, it was made for riding in snow. It will be a while before the snow is on the ground so I will be riding fall conditions practising my skills anxiously awaiting that first snow day. I did a Halloween ride last night on the fat tire bike; I dressed up like Slash from Guns and Roses. Now try to imagine a group of grownups riding fat tires bikes wearing costumes and riding in the forest at night with lights. Sounds like fun right, well maybe not everyone would want to participate in such an event but for those us who refuse to grow up it was a blast. Driving to work just the other day I was thinking about how aging affects how people dress, what car they drive how they spend holidays and what sports they participate in and so on. After some thought I decided that I am not going to participate in the aging process. I find it inconvenient and I really don’t want to change my lifestyle, instead I will hold on to what keeps me young at heart. Halloween is always a great time to connect with ones inner child and that kid inside of me loves my fat tire bike. I guess I am in the right social group because they don’t what to grow up either. There are times in a person’s life when they need to get rid of some stuff because they need the space or they need the money to buy new stuff so they sell the old stuff. About 10 years ago I had to sell something because I bought something else. Money was a little tighter back then when the kids were young which meant sacrifices had to be made. Well this is all well and fine except for when the item is a bike. One should never sell a bike to get money to buy another bike. That would be like selling your first born so that you could afford a second child, the logic just isn't sound.
The thing with bikes is that they are closely connected to good memories and good memories should never be given up. The bike I sold was associated to the many mountain bike races I experienced as an Ontario Cup competitor and other local races. It was also the bike I raced in the World Police and Fire Games in Quebec. I sold the Rocky Mountain Vertex because I thought I needed a full suspension bike to be more competitive and the hard tail just wasn't up to the task. So with a heavy heart I parted with my greatest trophy of those races and moved onto full suspension. I watched it go out the door and with some final parting words I told the buyer to look me up if he ever put the Vertex up for sale. Ten years went by and I often would look at the photo of that bike hanging up on the workshop wall and I would say to myself, what was I thinking. In 2001 Rocky Mountain bicycles, a Canadian manufacturer built each bike by hand; the Vertex has the signature of the welder who built the frame on the down tube. I watched eBay for one like it to come up for sale but another one like it never did, it was too rare. A few weeks ago I got an email from the buyer who remembered those parting words; he was offering to sell the bike back to me. There was no consideration to be made, the answer was yes, and can I pick it up today. I brought the bike back home and gave it a good cleaning and some TLC. I got out the rubbing compound and brought the paint back to its original shine. Then the metal cleaning compound came out and the metal parts were buffed backed to a new like state. So there she was hanging there all shiny and bright and looking like she did when it rolled out the door. There was this box of newer components lying on the work bench. Should it keep it original or take it up a level; take it up a level was clearly the way to go. So the 2001 Vertex was married up to an XTR drive train, Crossmax wheels, wide riser bars and a few other little bits and pieces and now my hand built custom Blue baby is home to stay. They say that smell is the biggest trigger to memory but let’s not forget the other senses, like the sense of sound. Music can bring you back to a time and a place when you last heard that piece. Music can inspire and uplift your spirits to set you in the frame of mind you would like to be in. My Dad would often get out his Hohner squeeze box and sit in a chair in the kitchen and pound out a tune or two before heading to the mine for a night shift. The Hohner squeeze box or accordion was a hardy little beast with its own unique sound. Apparently it was difficult to learn because one key button produced 2 different notes; one note when the diaphragm was compressed and one when it was pulled back, which made that type of accordion difficult to play and gave it that particular crazy-ass sound. Those shrill sounds and big bass tones had a way of getting your blood pumping. When my dad broke out the squeeze box I broke out my tricycle. He would start out slow and I would pedal to the rhythm created by the bass tones coming from that little box until he switched to other songs which always grew progressively faster than the last. As he picked up the beat I picked up the pedal strokes. Dad could really make that little Hohner rock the house with a fast beat but my 5 year old legs never had any concept of getting tired. So the "ole man" would play and round and round I would go; full speed through the kitchen, lean into the corner going down the hall, another hard bank into sweeping turn in the living room, another lean into the turn and back into the kitchen where dad would be pounding out the beat with his big shoes on the wooden floor. The squeeze box and my bike are forever linked in my memory to good times with my dad and my Cape Breton heritage. Life is full of crossroads and at the age of thirteen one of those presented itself to my dad and we moved to Ontario. With the sale of our Cape Breton home my dad was able to made good on his promise to buy me a new bike; a CCM 10 speed which opened up the world of country roads and adventures in a big world. I'm sure he thought he was just playing his squeeze box to relax before work and seeing me riding in circles likely warmed his heart. It's funny how everything we do, every choice we make effects everything that happens after that and this is particularity true when it involves children, you never know the inspirations you are creating. I'm sure he never knew how much that 10 speed would effect my life and all of those around me; I think he gave a gift he never knew he gave. Cycling has been good to me because it has kept me healthy, released stress and made grounds for friendship with some of my best friends. I thank my dad for the first music fed inspiration to ride and the 10 speed which was at that time well beyond his means. My dad never learned to ride a bike because he never owned one as a child, it was something his family could never afford. My dad's childhood was cut short at the age of 16 when he went into the mine; so guess I ride for both of us. Park Tool PFP-7 Pro Floor Pump Sometimes you just don’t get what you pay for. I took a bike to Cuba so that I could ride it while I was there on holidays; riding in Cuba was a great experience but that’s another story. When it came time to head home I left the bike with my Cuban friend along with some tubes, tires and other biking needs. I had a nice PFP-8 Park Tools pump that I had bought several years earlier. I paid a fair amount for the Park tools pump but was never really happy with it so decided I would leave it for my friend and buy a better one when I got home. I patted myself on the back for being such a swell guy. When I got home I decided my act of kindness surely should award me the best pump on the market. Still being a believer in the Park Tools hype, even though the last pump was so- so; I turned once again to Park Tools for my reward. I bought the Park Tool PFP-7 Pro Mechanic Floor Pump expecting reliability but it is seriously the worst pump I have ever used for many reasons. I’ll skip the creative jargon and get right to the flaws in the design. The pump has a built in pressure gauge. The gauge never reads correctly. A reading of 35 PSI on the pump gauge could actually be anything from 40 to 60 PSI as I found out using my automotive pressure testing gauge. The barrel of the pump is small so the user has a lot of up and downs to pump up a tire. The head of the pump rarely connects to the valve correctly. Connecting requires some trial and error until you find that sweet spot that will put air in the tire. At times the pump will open the valve on the wheel but the pressure from the tire will backfill the pump cylinder forcing the pump handle straight up; air cannot go in or out once it locks up in this manner, so it’s disconnect and try to find that sweet spot. The pump looks good with its Park Tool logo boosting quality but that’s where it ends. I have been a fan of the Park Tools company for many years because I believed they make quality products so I contacted the manufacturer and made my complaints. The rep heard me out and sent me a new head from a different model of pump. The new head arrived but none of the issues were resolved by changing the head. Park Tools must be facing a lot of competition from off shore companies who are selling cheaper tools that get the job done just as well as Parks expensive brand name products. The only hope of survival for companies like Park Tools is their reputation for quality products. Businesses like Park get by on that reputation to sell product for them but once that’s gone they are just another tool company with over priced tools and it’s all downhill from there. Park Tools has lost this customer and likely any other consumers who have bought one of their floor pumps. Don’t buy the Park Tool PFP-7 Pro Mechanic Floor pump. Try to imagine 100 lights cutting through the night forest flowing up and down the hills and turning darkness into light. I arrived in Dundas, Ontario at the The Lager Shed for registration and to pick up my free T shirt. Riders were arriving in costume and excited for the adventure. Awards for best costume were pending so many riders went to a great lengths to win the prize. My personal favourite goes out to Raf and his Wolf in Grandma's clothing. Little Red, err actually Little Purple Riding Hood was making every effort to avoid the Big Bad Wolf. Then there was Woody, Mario, Spider Man, Pac Man, the Fighter Pilot riding his F14 bike and the usual ghouls, clowns and made up costumes straight from the wearers imagination. The participants put a lot of time and energy into their costumes; riders were there to have fun and they were fully committed to doing just that. The organizers rounded up the troops and we set out though the quiet town and headed up the road to the trails built on the hilly landscape around Dundas. The ride was well organized with volunteers guiding the way and keeping the masses heading off into the night in a long chain. The organizers had the foresight to offer easy and difficult options for different skill levels. We did 10 km of trail in about an hour and a half which was a relaxed pace however the hills of Dundas did get my heart rate up. After the ride we all headed back to The Lager Shed for complementary drinks and eats from a food truck which was right inside of the developing Micro Brewery. The group switched from socializing on bikes to an informal event that was relaxing and conducive to meeting people. I made a few new friends who share the same interests and I reconnected with old friends. The conversation in the historic building was all bikes and bike related issues; nobody was talking politics or complaining about the price of gas. On the way home I reflected on the “Big Ass Ride" and dressing up for Halloween as an adult and came home with these thoughts. It's never too late in life to have fun and let out your inner child, it will keep you sane. If you are keeping that child of yours in his room you are likely turning to other destructive ways to dispose of your stress from the daily toils of this life. I’ve learned to keep Ronnie open to immature possibilities at a moment’s notice because he keeps me grounded and reminds me of the person I was born to be and he shows me the way so that I don't get lost in the night. |
AuthorRon Head Archives
January 2024
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