Oi.... Mud, Blood, Sweat, and rocks...

So, the trip started well enough... I called up my friend from my unit and we decided to go for the bike ride that we had been putting off since May. We found the trail and up we went. You can see here what we saw about 10 minutes into our ascent. Lovely weather, truly. I wish it was like this more often. Right after this point, though, things began to go wrong...
The night's rain had done bad, bad, things to the trail surface. It began to get steep, and with nothing but wet rocks a oozing clay to grip, both of us were spinning in a futile effort to climb the grade. We could not get any traction eventually and had to hike it to the nearest flat... and the the fun began in ernest.

My friend (know to you as Ghettorig) has caliper brakes on his bike, you see. The clay was getting caked onto his tires, but was getting caught by the brake shoes. It kept locking up the wheel. We would stop often to dig his hardware free just to keep the wheels turning. Undetered, we pressed on, hoping that it would be drier on the gentle slopes up high. For the most part, we were right.

The rest of the ascent was not bad, but Ghettorig's wheels needed frequent attention and by this time, my front deraileur was essentially non-operational. Our bikes both felt as if they had doubled in weight.



We chilled up there for a bit... we were both pretty spent and it was simply gorgeous out.



On the way down, gravity worked for us. I saw some deer, but did not get a clear shot. On my way back to the bike, I saw Ghettorig fiddling with his bike. It did not look hopeful. When I got there, I was looking at a mangled rear derailleur. It had gotten so clogged with clay that it had locked, then been carried by the rear wheel to 180 degrees of where it should have been. Also, somehow, the chain was caught in his pedal. He now had a velocipede... no direct drive. We did bend the offending brackets back into place with out bare hands, but still, the drivetrain was shot. We could ned get everything staight without tools.

All was hunky dori for a while. We chose a direct route down to minimize further damage to the stricken bike, a steep and widing trail. The sun was out enough by this time that it had begun to dry somewhat. Down we went, around a hairpin, let it out a bit in a straightaway... Ghettorig pulled way out ahead of me, but I made no effort to catch up. We were 200 yards from my truck by this time... BANG! I don't even know how it happened. All I could see was dirt. I couldn't breathe. My mouth was full of wet dirt. I don't know how long I was on the ground, but shortly enough, breath returned and got up. From waist to neck hurt/stung/burned/felt chilled... somehow, I'd departed the bike and pancaked my body onto the trail at about 30 MPH. Nothing seemed broken, but as Ghettorig came up the trail, I checked. Nothing was, but I was scraped up pretty nicely The bike seemed okay, but the rear brake acted up the rest of the way to the truck... I decided to deal with it later...

I had to get ready to go to one of those lovely day off things on base that required my presence. Anyway, I got off easy: I slid 20 feet down a rocky trail and broke nothing. I hit at speed. While my arms and chest are sore, none of the abrasions are deep. I was wearing a helmet and eyewear, so the noggin is etirley untouched, though the inside may have been damaged to begin with. I missed the dropoff and all nearby pointy vegetation. Not bad. This pic here sums up most of the damage. Not bad at all. I am annoyed that I can't figure out how I crashed... I like to learn something every time I crash. Oh well, I had fun, Ghettorig had fun... but both of our bikes need work. I am also more convinced than ever that disc brakes are the only choice... my wheel never locked.

Next trip: We aim for zero casualties.