New trails = more smiles.
Even when you get a flat.
The local mountain bike trail system I frequent (Mohican State Park) grew by about five or six miles over the weekend.
As a local reporter, I was notified of the trails’ opening. And as a cyclist in the newsroom, I was the default person to cover it and write a story. I gladly did it, but I ran into a conundrum.
The opening was hosted by the Ohio Department of Natural Resources. There was the usual ribbon cutting ceremony, preceded by officials sharing a few words, spreading thanks and doing all the things short of joining hands and singing kumbaya.
But this opening ceremony was unique. At its conclusion, there would be a group ride of the new trails. And so, naturally, I looked forward to this. I thought it would be a great opportunity to write a straight newsy story and color it with a first-person perspective of the ride.
I grabbed my mountain bike, helmet and usual gear. (My gear bag, at this point, includes a multitool, CBD-infused lip balm, a tire repair kit, a couple zip ties and mustard packets. The mustard works well for muscle cramps in a crunch.)
I talked to the people, took notes, took photos, etc. etc.
When it was time for the group ride, I shed my jeans and changed my shirt. (I prefer riding my mountain bike in my undies. Kidding. I had worn my riding shorts underneath the denim.)
I put my helmet and gloves on and was ready to go. A group had already gone, so I tagged along in a small group of four. We rode the skills park at the trail head to warm up a bit and then began the ride on the machine-built trails.
Machine-built trails are pretty cool. I don’t have a whole lot of experience on them, but I can definitely tell the difference. I’m not going to say they are better than hand-built trails, but … there are certain things machines can do that adept hands can’t.
That said, there’s a certain romanticism to hand-built trails that will never wear off on me.
Anyway, back to the story.
About a half-mile into the ride, I ran over a twig that got caught in my rear derailleur, causing my cranks to seize. No big deal. I dug it out and kept pedaling. My senses heightened for additional sounds, I then heard another noise. This time it was a hiss.
Sure enough, there was a puncture in my front tire. I’m not sure where it happened first, because the pressure was already somewhat low — even after pumping it at the trailhead.
I was so bummed.
I mentioned the tire repair kit. I had all the tools to fix the puncture right there on the trail.
But I was already crunched for time. There was a deadline to get the story filed. If I messed around getting a tire fixed, I’d be cutting into that precious time and trying too hard to catch up to the group that was now out of earshot. So, I decided to walk back to the car — dejected and defeated by whatever little sharp object pierced a tiny hole through my non-tubeless knobbies.
Yeah, I don’t run tubeless. I’d like to someday, but tubes have worked just fine. But, yes, I know. If I had a tubeless setup, the sealant would have done its job and I’d be writing a different story.
Then it hit me. The tire repair kit I carry with me includes a 16g CO2 canister and applicator. I picked it up at the local bike shop before the 100K race earlier in the year. Haven’t used it — haven’t had to. Initially, I wondered if I could just blow up the tire enough to keep riding.
“Maybe it’s a slow leak. I could keep going!”
“No. That’s stupid, Dillon. What happens when you’re 10 miles out and you’re totally flat? What are you gonna do, give your tire CPR to fill it back up with air? You really want to spend a couple hours hiking back?”
So what I did was use the CO2 to get me back to the trailhead. And I gotta say, the tool worked really well. It got me back to the car much quicker than walking.
I got back to the computer and wrote the story, minus the part you’re now reading.
And then on Saturday I patched the tube. On Sunday morning, I was able to escape back out there to do a proper (solo) ride. It was glorious. I especially enjoyed the downhill section on Osprey trail, just before the trail shoots out onto the road. Loads of fun.
I’m really glad there are more trails out there. If you’re unfamiliar, Mohican’s mountain bike trails have been around since 2004ish. The trail is a giant 24.5-mile loop of old-school singletrack. It will kick your hiney. Roots. Rocks. Hairpin switchbacks in both up and down directions.
The International Mountain Biking Association designates the loop as an “EPIC” ride, a crowd-sourced distinction that gives riders a “true backcountry riding experience” that is accomplished on “demanding, majority singletrack … in a natural setting and at least 20 miles in length.”
The new trails connect the original IMBA EPICS loop to the park’s lodge, which is situated on a wooded peninsula created by Pleasant Hill Lake. They snake through the woods until dumping you onto a paved county road that takes you across the dam. You pedal for a little while until finding another trail to the right. This trail, named 30-06, was hand built by volunteers from the Mohican-Malabar Bike Club — the same ragtag group of riders that built the original loop.
Connecting the loop to the lodge will be a good thing. I’m not smart enough to know or articulate why. I just know that more trails leads to more people riding and hiking them, which, ultimately, leads to more smiles.
Despite my little flat tire setback, I was all smiles. Thanks trail builders.
