As the scars of a winter well-spent fade into the grass of Moonshine Park, so spring comes, the dust re-emerges (albeit intermittently) and tan-lines start to take on the definition lost under tights and jackets. It is not without a touch of sorrow that I wave goodbye to winter. Happy memories of a winter of ‘cross linger on, with the nagging feeling of not wanting the races to end. As these thoughts dance around the back of my mind, the front is occupied with bright lights, speed and dreams of trails. Images of last summer spring from their doldrums and light up my minds-eye every night as the longing grows stronger for hours spent drifting around trails and popping over roots.
|Contributing to Moonshine Park's scars and earning my newest pseudonym: Turf-shredder.|
Being without a mountain bike for the past three months has been hard, but ‘cross filled the void for 7 weeks of blissful agony, every week dying a little death1. Post-‘cross though and the void has become hungry. Borrowing an enduro style bike from Brett last weekend did nothing to sate the void’s hunger, merely reminding me of what I am missing. I haven’t slept well since, every time I close my eyes I’m following a ribbon of singletrack that I know I can’t have.
|Riding the borrowed bike on Mt. Vic. I can't help but think that Enduro is what I should be doing...|
Offers of bikes to borrow have been many and varied, but I have rejected almost all. It would feel like cheating on my bicycle whilst she is overseas. I want to forge a relationship with this new bike, not have cheap, short-lived thrills with the first two-wheeled wonder to come along and offer it-self up. I want the fondness and memories that go with an old friendship; the intuitive understanding that can only come from hours spent on the trails. So I am saving myself. Saving myself for the bike that I know is coming. It will not be perfect. It will not be the fastest, the prettiest, the most gadget-ridden or clean; but it will be mine, and together we will make memories. It will be beautiful.
1 Obvious reference to la petite mort. 'Cross is not orgasmic, not quite, but it is bloody good fun, and you do feel pretty close to death at times. I had to slow down in two races with some interesting chest pain.