End of an era - I quit my mountainbike club

This is somewhat of a very sad post. I have decided to end an era by quitting my mountainbike club. It´s a bit difficult to say I got mobbed out, because it is more complex than that. So I won´t rant on endlessly about it. I do not belong at all, and to that effect I decided to no longer belong, if you get my meaning. I founded the club together with JanDark and MountainMaik. I designed the logo (stone drunk on a handkerchief) together with Jan some 13 years ago and contributed a lot to the concept. I invented the name in the first in 1989.

We did this all in memory of a laid mutual friend of ours, Ollie, who died in an accident in China while doing an apprenticeship for Osram (nothing to do with the corporation, however, he died racing a scooter after having a beer too much and wearing no helmet). We founded the whole thing because it was one of his final wishes. It was a great thing, and after an initial period that required a lot of work (from which I never really recovered), the team took off. We shared a lot of great rides and BBQs and fun and races and stunt riding. We explored the woods and rode epics and short fun rides, and it was just as if we could change the world. We made grand designs to small detail to actually change the world... at least Jan and I did. And at first we managed quite well.

But the ratrace did not stop at the gates, so to say, and it entered the whole thing. I fought. But when I realized my efforts where ignored, I at first quit my position as second chairman, for I did not want to have any part in the turn the club took. I realized my visions (social work, working with difficult and "normal" kids alike to bring them together and create rookie riders, workshops and the like) could not be realized with the team, which was at that time run exclusively as a CC-team while stating otherwise by also addressing freeriders, downhillers and dirtjumpers and the would-be, newly arising enduro discipline of mountainbiking. I fought. I lost. Business as usual, and I did not give up, and slowly, but finally the club adapted to modernity and nowadays there even is an enduro squad actually doing some races. Of course this was not exclusively due to my efforts, Jan again had a big part in it, and all of the young guns that came by.

They gave me honours and credits for that, for they had the misconception I did this for my personal prestige, when all I wanted was to discuss my vision. I put a lot of energy into this club, and, fact is, I had a burn-out last year. I have worked on that, but the constant sabotage and plain ignorance by certain important members of the club did not help me having energy. Please do not get me wrong - I do not whine about this. It´s like it is.

And I am sad, that´s all. It was some 25 years of aspects of intense living that now come to an ugly end. Business as usual, that´s what it is. But I simply lack the energy. I feel too tired to try to fight on for a doubtful success. I am 42 years old and have not time nor mind nor patience for toodling around. Yeah, of course I have a midlife crisis, as everyone has, but I believe it serves the purpose of setting crooked things straight. It is a chance.

Zee Aylienz have cost me dearly, but I have learned a lot by it. Of course the whole deal rendered my motivation for mountainbike riding nearly zero. I fought against it, because I still believe in it being a good thing. And I hope I am ready for a fresh start, for myself and no one else. I have ordered a new frame and will get a new fork set up. To my own devices, and noone´s else.

And the energy I have will go into projects that deserve it. Zee Aylienz don´t anymore.

That´s not to say I wish them any ill, and I hope they put up to the challenges they are faced with. I can´t resist stating that I predicted their momentary "crisis" and was ignored, but I hate to be right, so I´d gladly learn they are capable of coping with it. I sincerely wish the club the very best.

I have learned by experience that I do not belong at all. I say the wrong words at the wrong time to be liked or even heard, I speak my word, whether anyone deems it appropriate or not. Not for me, that´s one thing I don´t get right still. But I have learned that what passion I have I shall keep to myself and my loved ones from now on, and for projects that want it.

To the folks from the club who read this: I wish you happy trails, I hope to meet you on the trail and I hope that we can simply laugh it off and do some shreddin´.  

"Tut Euch nicht weh..." (take care!)

Goodbye.

What the term "soul ride" means to me-long overdue solitary ride to the hills

 It is a bit difficult to me at the moment. I had to move out of the smithy again, so no blacksmithing at the moment. I had been betrayed by people I thought were friends and for whom I had done my share of work. In my mountainbike team there is a strong aversion against me, for my opinions are alien to zee aylienz (pun intended), and I still speak my word. Mountainbikers cannot understand that I sympathize with hikers, equestrians and, oh how frivolous, even hunters. Many of them are only interested in "bigger is better" and "progression", in building illegal trails and many of them shit on trail etiquette. There are times when I do not even touch my bike and shun it in disgust. It is just like you feel disgusted by a body part to me, for I have been riding mountainbikes for 29 years now, and before that did exactly the same with a modified BMX bike with gears.

But it´s not in the bike or the sport. It´s in the people. They might all be decent enough, but I simply cannot stand their crazed gibberish, the nervous talk that all is well and all will be well and always has been. There are exceptions, of course, but I cannot stand the superficial focus on a surrogate activity without so much of a single thought spared about what lies behind. Philosophy, ecology, politics, emotions simply are topics left out. Instead one rants about what fork what stunt and whatsitsname bikepark.

I have realized that I have always been an outcast and will always be. It´s a simple fact: I always was happiest with few people around. I could do what I ever could to be accepted, I could work for them, I could create and give them a context, such as a club, a smithing community, a promotion club, in the long run I am always mobbed out. Don´t know why this is so. People who must know (psychologists, priests, druids, philosophers) tell me they can´t say why this is so, either. Others say I am "too good" for this world. Excuse me, I am not good. I have a lot of grave shortcomings. And - can anyone be too good, because he´s no bastard?

The answer is, yes. Yes, in a world of bastards, you are too good if you don´t get rid of your neighbour by cunning and shrewdness.

But there is little I can change about that, and I know this full well. So I guess, I will continue to care for my fellow human beings, and, to rekindle my fire, I need an outing from time to time. Then I go for a hike, or sit on a stump, or saddle my steed and ride out to the hills.

 And this I did. Oh, no spectacular stunts. Not that technical a trail. To most of those rookie riders the trails I rode would have been outright boring. But there was silence, and solitude, and the cry of the buzzard, the rustle of the wind and the vista that showed me I was far away from the city. This is a historical site and the top of the world of my hometown.

 In the late medieval age and early modernity, there was the "iron trading road" running along those hills, the Hellweg, an important trade route in those times. There are still many remnants, old buildings, rests of old tax points and the like. I imagined those two-wheeled carts slowly working through the woods. I saw the pictures of those truckers of these days after a long day of 25 km of wheeling along through dense and murky woods finally coming in to a wayside inn and feasting on what was available, meeting each other, trading wares and stories and one or the other song. I imagined wanderers and pilgrims on the way, keeping closely together in fear of robbers and rovers and the terrors that had no name and many. And in the evening, by the fireside in the inn, they told stories of werewolves and robbers and white women, of the mannekens grisebaort (greybearded little-men) and dwarves and druds and witches. Of course, they were too brave to believe those stories... but how come they were so glad to sit beside the fire with an ale and their tobacco pipe near? The iron and coal they brought from the Siegerland as far as Cologne found its way to many a smithy in the vicinity, and in Hagen and Breckerfeld the bladesmiths knew how to process it to a most excellent steel that became legendary throughout Europe. Still one can see a trace of the mastery of these smiths when looking at the works of their offspring in Zlatoust and St. Petersburg. In those ancient days the Brakkersfelders Knopmetz had a similar nimbus to those works of art Zlatoust now produces and was far renowned throughout the world.

But it was not just iron that those ancient truckers transported. Corn and meal, ale and wine, cloth and works of art, sugar, salt and coffee, cocoa and spices they transported over these hills.

I imagine sometimes one or the other did halt his wagon, and standing where I was, enjoyed a moment of rest while looking down into the valley.

 On I followed the winding trail, down into the valley, and after a slightly technical session came to a most ancient friend of mine: The priorlinde, a famed and ancient linden tree in the valley.

 By storm and lightning it had been ravaged, and yet it stands still strong after more than thousand years, silently, slowly swaying in the breeze of spring and summer, in the thunderstorms and autumn´s chill winds; in the frost of winter and in the coming spring again, year after year of slowly growing, sprouting, where limbs were severed, regenerating, reverberating the silent thrum of the dark soil below.

 It grew around the mesh and poles of iron. It grew through rock and stone and soil.

 Into the light it grows, into the green and golden sky, upwards and upwards with the ferocity of stone-hard roots and branch and stem dancing lightly.

 It keeps a light within its crown, a secret therein.

 I touched the bark and silently smiled.

None of my fellow mountainbike riders would understand this, and I am glad for it. They will never know the secret.

 On I rode to the site of one of the sustainability centres in the vicinity. There is this hall of willow trees, another special place. Yes, it is man-made, and one could argue about the necessity, but the trees prosper no less for all the steel that binds them.

 The trees form a golden spiral, and the atmosphere is overwhelmingly serene.

 It is as if you are contained within this place.

 Peace filled my heart, and I lay down to rest and meditated a good hour away.

I drank deep from the cauldron of the rich, green fire again. And, again, as I remounted my bike, I felt as if resurrected by creation. Oh, no, it´s nothing special.

It was just a solitary ride to the hills. Without gibberish.;-)

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.