FEBRUARY 2012 - The Lay of the Land

Building trail, as in life, requires a few skills, and many of them learned by doing.  Building trail can be a mirror image of our day to day, one which reflects the activities and experiences of our “other life,” the one with the usual (and sometimes unusual) demands of work, relationship and survival in a world that can seem at times contrived and confining, or far better, free-flowing, challenging, rewarding and unknowable.

Out in our neck of the woods is a growing network of singletrack.  Enjoyed by mountain bikers, hikers and equestrians alike, this trail system is borne out of love for our sport, for the enjoyment derived by other riders, and for the experience of being out in the “wild,” alone with our thoughts of flow and grade and jumps and drops and technical capabilities. It is a system being created by mountain bikers especially for mountain bikers, although other users are quick to express their appreciation for the new trails.

The success or failures of our trail-building efforts are measured out in the smiles and enjoyment we see on new and returning riders’ faces, in the expression of words at the end of the ride, of the excitement of hitting the technical features, the sections that roll and bank and swoop as if on a two-wheeled rollercoaster.  Of course, success is also measured by the buzz generated in cyberspace. We builders make mental Post-Its where changes in trail layout would improve flow and views and challenge, of cacti in need of transplanting further from the trail, of technical features needing repair or needing establishment. 

And when I return by myself to make changes to layout, or to continue on with new trail, it is a time to turn the volume down concerning thoughts of work, of personal relationships, of life events and life choices, of conflicts and triumphs large and small, without interruption of the day to day back and forth discourse, even with the ones we love.
 
In life, though I may strive to interact with others in the spirit of helpfulness, cooperation, compassion, and love, I am dealing with other people (as they are with me), after all, and I am a peculiar and contrary participant in our species.  My successes and failures are within my control, but another’s interpretation of my words, expressions, body language and other social cues I exhibit even if I myself am unaware, oblivious, unwitting are beyond my control. In essence, I gauge my own successes or failures in part by the smiles and affirmations of others, by others’ expressions of words, and by the sometimes viral spread of public opinion concerning me, my ideas, my career potential. I don't seek approval, but approval can affect the course I take.

My interactions with others are in a constant, amorphous state of flux, requiring constant adjustment and self-evaluation and consideration of intent, of meaning, of logic, of empathy and consequence.  These adjustments in interactions are based on social cues provided by others, by changes in the terrain of relationships, in the work place, in all aspects defining the landscape of my life.  Perhaps I am far more and unnecessarily complicated than my peers, but I suspect that we all experience some similarities of the human condition.

When I am alone on the trail, laying out, moving earth, scouting ahead, pruning trees, transplanting cacti leveling off-camber tread and raking, my interaction with the landscape is also in a constant, amorphouse state of flux, governed by terrain, by obtacles and game trails and prickly pear.  Out here, I can take a breath and think, unfettered by physical, social and psychic restraints.  Or I can clear my mind and not think at all.  I enjoy the physicality of my work, of seeing (and riding on) the fruits of my labor. 

I am awed by the shades of red, ochre, purple, violet and indigo as they overtake the Superstitions, and by the flames that seem to consume the setting sun and and western sky.  I am transported by the silence punctuated by the calls of Harris and red tail hawks, and ravens; and as dusk approaches, by the coyotes, owls and the audible social chatter of bats as they flit and zig-zag in their acoustic search for dinner. I savor the smells of fresh earth, fresh air, of brittle bush and creosote, and even the distinctive scent of the desert itself that is amplified as sunlight yields to nightfall's damp, fragrant coolness that fills the washes like unseen and gentle rivers of air.

Though this may be some existential Shakespearean plagiarism by half, I enjoy simply to be. It can be a transformative experience, the “Zen of Building Trail.”  I can think of nothing, or I can refocus my perspectives, reconsider my words, gather my thoughts, come up for air.  Whichever I choose, new trail unfolds, new challenges are met or created to test my own and others’ mettle, changes are made that improve flow and communication between rubber and earth; and I can return home a changed and better person.

PR, FEB2012

January 2012 - Back to Basics

You know, sometimes I get too wrapped up in what I am going to write about “for the month,” “for the blog,” and or “for my own amusement” if I be the only one to read this stuff.

And then there are days like today.

Nineteen people met at 9 AM this morning in Gold Canyon to ride the ever-increasing miles of singletrack out here in our quiet community.  Tucked in behind all the retirees and snowbirds, beyond the streets of us worker bees, and somewhere, somehow, beyond the reach of the many Southwestern-inspired McMansions (no disrespect and truth be told, I’d love to live in one!), are three sections…Sections from the “old” Township & Range system of coordinates, before there were GPS and iPhones and satellites and mountain bikes and bikes at all, really…three sections.

In the Township and Range coordinate system, one township is comprised of 36 sections, each section being equal to one square mile, each square mile being equal to 40 acres, and each acre being equal to 43,560 sq ft. The “baseline” is an imaginary E-W line that is used to demarcate the southern edge of a series of townships (think “Baseline Road,” which spans the entire valley 76 miles from Tomahawk on the east end to beyond 339th Ave to the west), while the meridian is an imaginary N-S line based off of the Prime Meridian (arbitrarily established in 1884 as running N-S through the Royal Observatory of Greenwich in southeast London, England because they were at that time the world’s greatest superpower and got to say so), and is used to reference all surveys east and west. Hence,

Meridian Road

in the east valley bounds Mesa to the west, Apache Junction to the east.

In Gold Canyon there are three sections, or 120 acres, set aside in Pinal County’s “Open Space & Trails Master Plan” that are identified in “Conserving Arizona’s Future Initiative, 2006:  Permanent Reserve.”  It is why these nineteen mountain bike riders met this morning, and on these 120 acres that we were to ride.

Horse. Lost Gold Mine. Cougar. Jeep Trail. K Trail. Tech Loop. Vortex.  Gila Monster. Old Horse. Quartz Ridge. Super Secret.  Western names to these trails, mostly, and appropriately, and each has a flavor all its own..  Granted, people back east drive “Jeeps,” “K” is a letter of the alphabet (though also a Gold Canyon master trail builder’s first initial), there are “Tech Loops” in many parts, and “Super Secret” is…well, secret, although you could probably tease it out of a rider or two.  For a shot of whiskey.   But taken in context, it is a network of trails worthy of a John Wayne western, and The Duke’s old studios, “Apache Land,” is where we meet this day.

A rare January dust storm had blown through the previous evening, and the Superstitions, though fully lit in the morning light, seemed veiled, distant, and yet oddly bigger than usual.  Off into the morning we rolled.

One of the best vantage points to watch a large group riding the roller coasters through the washes is from the ip of the wash.  As the riders descend and ascend the banks of the wash, it is a spectacle to see eighteen riders riding in opposing directions on at least three traverses through the wash.  On camera, it’s a great composition.  In film mode, it conjures the same smile on my face as if I were there in person. 

As the group rides on, we naturally break into smaller groups, and I have volunteered to sweep and keep count on this ride.  This gave me the opportunity to meet some new fellow riders, to assist with a few mechanicals, and to notice lines and vistas and vantage points I had not seen before.  Edward Abbey always insisted that if you wanted to see a place, and he meant REALLY see a place, get out of your motorized vehicle, get your boots on the ground and walk.  In this case, today, it was my Captain and Slant Six to the ground, and the more leisurely pace I was able to keep afforded me a level of attention I had not before paid to this beautiful trail system.  It also afforded me the concentration to hit all of the technical features built in to the trail, a first for me without carnage to limb or frame.

The Tech Loop, without a doubt, was a favorite.  Kevin and his assistants are to be commended for this playground of outcropping Precambrian granite and the lines from beginner through advanced clearly designated in painted dots through the rocks.  Comments about this section ranged from, “Awesome,” to “this section alone is worth the drive back here to play on this stuff all day.”  True.

The climb to the top of Vista Rock, that hulking outcrop of red breccia leading up to the Vortex was a brief stopping point to regroup, and from here made the final push to the top of Vortex.  The decision was made to descend via Gila Monster, though still under construction.  It was helpful to have the traffic on it to its current terminus, as it helped better establish the tread.  Feedback was positive, and I am confident that this trail, once complete, will be a great addition to an already and increasingly enjoyable, challenging and rewarding trail system.

By the end of the ride, it was all smiles.  New friendships.  New plans.  New stories.  In all, we completed seventeen miles and change, and that was omitting Quartz Ridge, which would have put us over twenty.

It looks like we are getting to the point where a Cañon del Oro Fat Tire 20 or 40 is in order.  We’ll see about making this a reality in Q4 of 2012.  A festival is fitting of a place such as this.  And the evolution of this place is, in itself, a joy.

Thanks to all who made the trip to Gold Canyon this past Sunday, for sharing the trails with us, and for sharing your experiences with your friends.  It just gets better.

Yup, there are days like today, and I am reminded again to get out of my head, get out on my bike, and get back in touch with why I love the union of aluminum and rubber, sinew and muscle, breathing and climbing, and the landscapes, sweeping vistas, and joy of sharing the trails with like-minded individuals who ride as one.

PR  23JAN2012