Riding home...

 This is not an altogether joyous post. I had been craving to get outside and do some riding for weeks again, and eventually managed to squeeze some time in. It had snowed a little, and the sun was out illuminating a clear blue sky. I took the lane to the foothills and was encountering breathing problems and the feeling that my body was not working properly. So I shifted down some gears and just put some basic intensity effort in. It was very cold, and in retrospective I have to admit I did not dress up that sensibly and had a cold in my bones. But I was becoming a little bit nostalgic when I thought about ´em days when I used to soar up the inclines and hammer down the hills. Alas, these times are well over now and will not come back. I remember a lot of cool rides with friends with not so much of a single worry, hooting and hollering down impossible terrain just for the bollocks and the fun. But those friends are gone and turned out to be no friends in the first place, and I had spent 25 years in the least living in an illusion.

The trails, however, have nothing to do with this. They are not an illusion. The way I ride has changed altogether. While I still like to do some technical trails and get some airtime in, it is not that important anymore. It is the silence and solitude of the forest that I so dearly need, and in order to get there cheap I use my bike.

 Plus, if anything goes awry with my bike, I will not be able to repair it for lack of money. Mostly my own fault, really, for I could get social allowances maybe to stock up my meagre salary, but I want to live my life according to my own designs. Money that you get from slavers makes you a slave. This I do not want at all. But that way you don´t go full tilt sailing over jumps, for wheels cost at least 150€. It just sucks doing a business job for 300€ less than  the average dole while being constantly at risk of being made responsible, but that´s how it is in the year 2016.

But since my body´s worn out a bit anyway, it´s not something that I should miss that much. But I realized I actually do miss it. I have ridden down the Dalco trail with an almost  rigid bike (there was no suspension other than 35mm of rubber eraser in those days). I have ridden down sheer cliffs in the Alps and I was able to fly. I rode with the gods of mountainbiking and had fun with them. I miss the flying and the carefree shredding, I miss the mountainbiking scene as it was.

Casually floating through the woods is what I need now, but I realize my life has changed a lot, and while a lot of things are really cool and one could not expect that everything always stays the same, I also must admit that I would not want to be the same idiot I once was. So I actually accept that my life is changing and has changed. But as life is generally and all over the world changing for the worst of the worst, and my life´s not THAT crappy to date, I guess I can´t complain.

 Still, I miss what was, and if I look at it realistically, will most certainly never come back again. As is, it felt good to feel the crunching ice and snow under my tyres and riding through the woods round the place where I once lived.

But thoughts occurred to me unbidden, as if in meditation. It feels somewhat weird, and sometimes I ask myself if it really did happen. It was a bit like a fairy tale, and most people look at me as if I was telling tales when I, well, tell the tales of my life. I grew up in a world that can and shall not be real, and the rulers of our world strive to annihilate even the memory of a lifestyle like this. They do not want self-reliant, they want human resources. They do not want you to make your own gear and relish in fruit from your own garden, and most certainly do they not want you to have encounters with real live animals, with fox and hare and deer and wild pig and badger and learn from them how to live wild, to kill and die and not be afraid of growth and passing. This is what teaches me even now and has taught me: All things must die, and I am no better than our cat was then which one day just went into the woods for dying in dignity. I do not want to be less than the cat I loved then as a companion, and the change that has come upon my life is a part of dying. Death is my brother who walks with me, and it is like you walk over the dark grounds of earth, and a booming step goes with you, beneath. I certainly fear death, but I am not afraid of it. I look into the face it has now, and it wears the mask of the change. But the sickle does not hit the twinkling sun that shines through the frost-enchanted branches and twigs of a forest that is, was and will be. The badger does not smile-but neither is he afraid of death or hates. He knows fury, but no hate. When he lives, he lives, when he dies, he dies. Fox hunts hare and the wolf hunts its prey, but this is a natural order. I grew up with it. Many people say I am a dreamer and this growing up of mine is a mere fancy and has never been.

 But they cannot do anything against what I am, because they do not understand. And beneath the sorrow and the sadness there is something adamantine that is not affected by sadness or even joy. It is what I really am. And in the woods, however tame or domesticated, your mask ceases to be, but you put on another, and this reflects what you really are. And it is what you really are, that´s what counts here, not what you say you are or what you want to be. There´s a lot of things I do not like about myself, but the woods don´t care. Life and death don´t care.

 The light is dim and blue, and truth is hard and cold like a sword in winter, but still the trees grow, grow up into the sky. Branches that once grew near the ground now embrace the sky. My self that was does not matter anymore, or matters in a different manner now. It is just like that my self of those years ago is part of the same tree that is my life. It still lives and thrives in that time. I do not believe in the concept of time as linear. I live now in that moment going over the cliff at Dalco as well as in the moment of writing this, and we sit down, have a cuppa and chat about it... and the self of tomorrow comes in casually and has a bit of a sit-down... and it has brought some cookies to add in to the coffee.

 And the forest grows, and the river runs two ways...

 ...and the trail has not yet ended. And that crystal-clear moment when I look at the snow in the sunlight will be there forever, but forever is but a word. I am coming of age, and I feel it in my bones. There is one moment in time, and if you are well aware, you can actually witness it. Let´s say, you sit down in an armchair, and when you get in, you are a youth still, and you sit, and you realize that when you get up, you will be an old man. This moment has come for me. It has come early for me, for I have always been old. But then I am still young, because I have always been. Sounds luna-tic, does it? Trust me, it is, and I am proud of it. But to me it is the truth.

 I rode to the place where I grew up, where I became what I am and will be. There were those tar linings on the dam which I used as a mark to practice my switchback technique as a kid... but the shutters of my home are now nailed shut and the house that meant so much to me now is slowly decaying because of neglect and to write off miscellaneous transfer assets to make even more money.
I rode those figures again... but the feeling was not there. I looked towards the house... but there were no lights lit. I looked into myself... and all was there where I left it.

 

And while all things must come to an end eventually, there is no end to anything.

 

Nequaquam vacui 

Dirt and steel, a cold butt and a cuppa tea;-)

Okay. I looked outside. The sun was shining. On the lane that passes beneath my window road riders and mountainbikers passed with minimum attire. Then I looked at my  belly and my hips. And felt for my legs. It was then I came to a conclusion.

 I discussed the pros and cons and what ifs thoroughly, and finally gave my sluggishness a thorough kicking up the spine. And saddled my bike. And made for the woods.

We will learn that my decision had some consequences. But I am not talking about that yet.

So, off with me, and I was right glad to be outside, the sun was warming me and all was grand in wonderland. I took the long way along the lane to get in the miles and do some basic endurance training. I recently had some problems with my heart and lungs, but only until I took up riding again, and even my thrombophilic legs did what they were supposed to do... it felt good to spin the cranks and casually rolling alongside the lake. Careful not to pass the anaerobic threshold, I took the turn into the woods, and all was silent. I was wondering because there were no one else in the woods that day. By that time the sun was not shining so much any more, but I thought "hey, it´s still good and warm, weather´s not going to be that bad" and went on my merry way.

Near the top of the hill I passed by the ruin of this ancient mill, and there I paused to smell the roses...

 ...or shall I say the steel???! Blimey, where´s my hacksaw when I need it? Beside the ruin there lay the remnants of an ancient carriage or sled. Nearly still in working order...;-)

 More spring steel in spring... this is a treasure trove that certainly will see me again!

 All was still above the crumbling walls. Inside the walls there was an old oven and a hearth and the remnants of a bed all strewn about the place. It was a weird sight to behold the passing of that place, all taken back by the forest´s ancient might.

 I was somewhat torn apart between the joy of finding those resources and the melancholy of the crumbling place.

 ....

 The trees around the place looked crooked and torn, but the atmosphere was still light and warm.

 Looking around, I saw a herd of roe deer in the far distance, but, as usual, I fumbled my camera and thusly, no pics of roe deer but an empty forest: Just buy yourself a roe-deer play figure and move it across the screen to get the full picture...;D.

 Then I was back on my bike, and took the singletrail to the hilltop. And while I did that, clouds gathered. And more of them. And yet more of them. And they turned pitch black in colour. And it started to rain. Then to drizzle. While I put on my rain jacket, I met a horseback rider, and after some polite greetings she uttered "shitty weather, ain´t it?", and I replied somewhat naively "that´s okay, it´s still winter after all". If only I had had a clue then.

 Then it started to hail. And to snow. Actually, I was glad that the hail was turning to snow, because those acorn sized pellets of ice actually DID hurt, even if you´ve got a helmet on.;-)

 Towards the hilltop I rode, catching snowflakes with my mouth and singing the marching song of Fiach MacHugh. Fortunately no one was there to be insulted;-D. It´s funny, when conditions get that foul, I always have to laugh. I felt alive then, and pensive at the same moment. How come we feel most alive when the going gets that rough?

 On the hilltop, beside the fire road, I sat down on a stump and watched the driving snow.

And had a sip of tea. It is funny, how the taste of tea in the cold weather and the woods gives you the feel of coziness even in a snowstorm. I cuddled into my plain windbreaker (not much to cuddle in, I admit), and let my thoughts wander with the driving storm.

But, being aware that the conditions were actually going worse and I had no spare clothes with me (yap, it happens to all of us from time to time, and I am not proud of it). I rode on to the city of Hohenlimburg to shortcut the ride and all the while revelled in my toughness and badassedness...

...but only until I hit the road where the icy storm hit me with all its might, and in combination with the oft-quoted ice water down the butt it made me want to cry and grunt with hypothermia. For once there was no overcoming it. My hands were freezing until I felt them no more, and I stopped frequently to avoid frostbite while putting them under my armpits to warm up. I certainly looked an outright fool, but I like to keep my hands as they are.

It was a shivering and a freezing frenzy getting along the lane,  frequently stopping and drinking the hot tea that was left in tiny pinchs to aid keeping warm.

But suddenly I was home, in my warm attic-turned-home, with a warm full bath and hot cocoa and tea and a load of spiced pasta, and all was well again. Okay, my hand joints do ache a bit still, but that will fade eventually.

Blimey, I look forward to summer.;-)

Winter spin - off with Kai

 I am currently havin a ball with my thrombophilic legs again, so it´s move or die. I tend to be a lazy bum but it´s always good to motivate if you have some ol´bstd always willing to join in another totally sick adventure, so I called up Kai, who, for a change is not suffering any severe injury at the moment in spite of having just returned from a skiing vacation;-).

Turns out he had time (damn, do I really want this???;-) Now I am nicked... Now I have to ride;-)... Damn....;-)) and I contemplated calling him again to postpone it, but did not want to be a sissy;-). He´d make fun of me for years to come!:-D So outside into the cold, all wrapped and bundled, with a flask of tea for the rewards in the backpack. Up the hill and down to Kai´s place all was relatively fine except for the ice-cold mud water running down your arse... and it was only after we had rendezvoused and decided we´d do it the hard way, that it began to snow. And to snow. And to snow some more. Up the hill I really messed up because my blood flow is not all it should be at the moment, and I had to push the last metres of the uphill. Kai was grand in that he realized I was being serious about the problems and kept his nasty comments to a minimum. I, in turn, was delighted and pissed off at the same time because he simply rode away from me. How come? It was me tutoring Kai how to ride as a kid. If he gets the better end of this old fart, I can claim responsible for this, too. But old farts tend to get grumpy, if the young guns show them their time has come;-).

 Anyway, it was a good-natured ride, of course, for in spite of our rough talk, I guess we simply like each other, and know we can rely on each other even under conditions.. well, like this. In fact, the ride was one of the funnest things I did in the last five years.

 We played around like kids, doing the old "BRAAAAAPBRAAAP" - motorcycle sound simulation.

 The gate to the otherworld.....

"Whose woods these are I think I know,

His house is in the village, though

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

 

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near;

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake

(...)

The only other sound´s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake"

(Robert Frost: Stopping by woods on a snowy evening)

Then we made for the hilltop, and it was purely Idita-style. How come? I-Dita push...;-P

On top of things we discussed taking the singletrail, but Kai said "Hey, let´s just ride comfortably round it". I said, okay, I am not at my best, maybe someone would be hurt the other way, and so we rode a different trail-BAM! Over logs and fallen brushes, through the thicket, over and around fallen roots... So much for comfortable;-), but great fun.

The way home was comfortably made on a wet road with ice-cold muck water running down my arse again, into my shoes, soaking my waterproofs, with no feeling in my fingers and toes, and pain in my back.

And we parted with a grin so broad as if chopped into our faces. It was a great ride with a great guy in a great and alien wood enchanted by the snow, playing and fighting and having a ball. Just as it should be.