Further Adventures Of... (Part One)

On our recent, and wonderful, vacation to New Hampshire, I faced my mortality---to a greater or lesser degree---three times. Let us call them Red Tail, Saco, and Washington.

Red Tail

On the second morning of our trip, I woke up early, having determined the night before that I would not visit the most well-known trail in the valley---the Red Tail Trail---because it sounded too rough, with too many obstacles, and so much climbing. 

So, of course, when my alarm went off, I knew that I must do it. Seeing the pelting rain only strengthened my resolve. Sort of. If I was going to do something "epic," why not do it in the rain? It was to be my first soaking of many.

As I began the climb, I was optimistic (and by began, I mean started pushing my bike up the trail. I only pedaled uphill for perhaps 20 feet in a 3.5 mile climb.) The rain wasn't really reaching me through the leaves, and the sandy soil was sucking up the rain without any of the mud I'm accustomed to. Ha. I was going to show this trail and this rain and my family and everybody. But it was not to be. Not only did the mountain actually climb up into the cloud from which the rain was falling (seemingly, anyway), but it made its way through more muddy soil and a trail that seemed tailor-made to become a stream bed when rain came. And it also began to rain harder. Pelt, really. I was beginning to get wet. And still I walked up. And up. The misty views---when I got them---were gorgeous, it's true. But it's hard to appreciate with water falling in your eyes. And there were roots. Thousands and thousands of them. Where was the top? I knew the trail was 3.5 miles long, how long could that possibly take?! Well, when it's a climb, it can take a few hours. 

Finally, I arrived at the trail intersection described by locals. And it wasn't any glorious overlook. It was a small sign hanging from a tree, and that's about it. I thought I should stop and rest, take a drink, and have a little snack. But it was raining hard, thunderstorms were forecast (they never did arrive, but I worried during the climb that I was stupidly climbing up INTO it, and made a deal with myself that the first crack of thunder, I was turning around.) Also, I'd finished both my water bottles, and hadn't brought a snack.

I won't deny that the trail down was something special. But neither will I omit the detail that many parts of my legs were beginning to cramp on the way down, and despite the recent upgrade to 29" wheels and disc brakes, my fingers and lower arms were feeling it as well. 

In theory, a rigid bike means that you use technique rather than technology. Your elbows and knees substitute for front and rear suspension. And on the wonderful trails back at the hotel, this works perfectly, but here on the mountainside, they simply weren't enough. I could've used some mechanical help. I would've accepted a full-on downhill racing bike at that point, but no one was there to offer me one. e eSomehow, though, I made it down quite a bit quicker than I'd climbed. The banked corners had been a joy, I was able (read "too exhausted to avoid") to ride the steepest rock section, and I even got a bit of air off the second of two jumps (I let off the brakes I'd been holding for the first). It's one to check off the bucket list, but I don't see myself going back there again. I'll leave it to the red tailed hawks I assume it's named for.