05/16/2008

Cynicism and redemption on two wheels finding my way back to The Bike By Richard Belson

Sometimes, between combing spec lists, reading online parts reviews and arguing with anonymous NSMB forum junkies, it gets really easy to overlook the reality of why we ride.

We participate in a technology-driven sport. And the sport drives an industry – an industry that exists to sell you the latest and greatest gadgets for your spec lists so you can write more online reviews and ride your shiny bike that is bigger/lighter/heavier/shinier than your buddy’s.

It’s a cynical view, I know, born from too much time spent looking at my lifelong passion from the perspective of an industry person. A perspective dreived from examining sales figures and scheming marketing strategies, aiming a certain bike at a specific rider demographic.  It's an outlook that would have driven the 14-year old me to smack the current me upside the head (with the very same snow shovel that that 14-year old earned half the money to buy his first mountain bike with in 1986). An outlook I hope that you, the reader of a bike-junkie website, never experience.

Somehow, while developing this grizzled perspective, I was beginning to lose the desire to swing a leg over a bike and pedal. I had the best trails in the world at my doorstep, and I couldn’t bring myself to drag my butt to a trail-head and ride.

In retrospect my soul left BC long before my body did. I lost my industry job, broke a fork, separated a shoulder and quickly started losing the desire to do most anything. I would spend hours a day trying to perfect manualling and attempting trials lines and riding trails that scared the bejeesus out of me…but I rarely smiled while doing it.

Richard and Monty.

The less I smiled while I rode, the less I wanted to ride. I would start using anger, frustration and stubbornness to pull off the big moves – trying them over and over until they were perfected with grunts loud enough to scare wildlife or the kids at the local teen-drop-in center. I would get home from rides grumpy and beat-down; palms screaming, blood dripping from torn calluses caused by riding trials for hours in sweat-soaked gloves for…something I had learned not to do years before.

I guess we (The Bike and I) saw our final demise that fateful day I spent on Burke Mountain. (See my numerous articles on NSMB singing this mountain’s praises!) Four years I had spent living at the base of Burke. It claimed countless ribs and a broken hand and never failed to humble me with its natural lines carved organically into the mountainside. Usually, if it was raining in Port Coquitlam, and I wasn’t at work, Monty, my always faithful and eager dog/riding partner and I were up Burke slipping and sliding our way down. It was, at that time, my heaven.

For those 4 years, however, the Sawblade trail eluded me. This day, my stubbornness and the misguided mission to find this trail led to a 5-hour death march that nearly killed Monty. He was so beat and cut up from the trail debris that I had to sling 67 pounds of Australian Shepherd-ness over my left shoulder and carry him while walking down Wellington Street, guiding my bike down the sidewalk with my right hand.

It was our last ride on Burke, and I think, my absolute last mountain bike ride in BC. Monty couldn’t eat for almost a month and every day on the way home from work I wondered if I would arrive to his usual spirited greeting, or to a silent apartment. Would my worst nightmare be waiting for me on the other side of the door? For what? For being stubborn and riding for all the wrong reasons…

I spent all my waking hours and my entire RRSP ensuring that he stayed alive. I quickly forgot about riding bikes entirely and concentrated on Monty’s survival. The Bike/Richard relationship was over, though I didn’t realize it at the time. I didn’t even notice that I wasn’t riding at all any more. I didn’t miss it. I think I even resented it.

A few months later, I pulled the plug for good and moved away from Port Coquitlam, away from Burke Mountain; away from mountain biking’s Mecca, to Spokane, Washington and got married. Monty came with me and made a slow, steady recovery.

Monty on the mend.

Since then, the bike and I have become re-acquainted. I got a job wrenching at Wheel Sport South, the best shop in town, and I work with a bunch of people who are still in love with bikes. Besides Klay, my lovely wife, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

It started with a bit of trials in the local park, then began commuting to and from the shop, then a few local races. Eventually, I started slowly seeing parts of my soul light up that had been dim for what felt like years. The feel of pedals, whether flat or clipless, beneath my feet was like walking on air. My calluses had started making a triumphant return and, before I knew it, I would spend my time at work thinking about the next time I could ride. I would go to bed early, like a kid on Christmas Eve, knowing that I was riding to work the following day, wanting it to come sooner.

It came to a head yesterday on Mount Spokane, when I went for a ride with my friend Vince. It was the maiden voyage on my new S-Works Enduro and, I’m excited to say, I grinned and giggled my whole way through the ride. From the first pedal stroke on the 45-minute road pedal up, to the very last single-track switchback, I fell in love all over again.

The perfect bike, the perfect trail, the perfect early-autumn morning…

I’ve felt there was something major missing from my psyche since moving away from BC. I mistakenly thought it was the absence of Shore trails, Burke Mountain or the Woodlot here in Spokane. As it turns out though, I had been missing it since long before the move. I just couldn’t tell. I simply missed loving riding bikes.

I’m mainly just glad the dog survived and forgave me, though…and he still kicks my ass on the climbs.
It’s nice to be back.

Richard Belson