POW! der.

The quintessential seasonal substance.

John/HD trails

It has begun.  Bring it, Mo Nature.

That Time Of Year

No, not Christmas.  Global Fat Bike Day.  It seems impossible that it's been a year since a few of us locals participated in the inaugural edition.

This year's version had a way different flavor and is already just as memorable.  I got up at 5:00 am and looked at the thermometer, which said 2 degrees F.  By 10:00 am it had soared to 7.  By ride time at noon, I'm guessing it was in the 10-15 range.

8 brave bastards on fat tires and 3 brave bastards on skinnies showed up and threw down.

There was no snow, just bitchin' cold air.  And low-angle sunshine.  And an ungulate sighting, of course.

We rode for somewhere between 1 and 9 hours, as legend will heretofore have it, after which we retired to one or more establishments to replenish our deficient malt levels (Dan's characterization, not mine.)

Anyway, I really dig hanging out with fatbikers - they seem to be a fine bunch.  And the ride today was flat out killer.  You never know what you are going to get this time of year, but this one just came together and rocked it.  Thanks to everyone who came out.  Can't wait for next year's edition, already.

The Oregon Outback

Check it out:

Oregon Outback 2014

Rad.  Thanks to my buddy Ward for turning me on to this.  Looks like one for the bucket list.

'Tis The Season

I'm asleep, not dead.  And when a really good bike story comes my way, I have a bike blogger obligation to wake the hell up and tell it.  The rules are the rules.

Read on then, patient and gentle blog follower . . .

'Twas 3 weeks 'fore Christmas
And all through-out Spo
There were rumblings of fat
While anticipat'n snow

When across my dumb phone
There arose such a clatter
I was driving while spying
To see what's the matter

The moon on the breast
Of the new fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day
To objects below
[Okay. This stanza doesn't really belong, I admit. But when you have even the remotest chance to use the words 'breast'  and 'lustre' in the same paragraph within your bike blog, you just do it. As if you owned Nike.  The rules are the rules.]

Glen hatched an idea
That was rooted in quirk
He spoke not a word
And went straight to his work

With keyboarding fingers
So lively and quick
He ordered the hardware
That would do the trick

He was dressed all in fur
From his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished
With ashes and soot
[Okay. I've embellished again. Bad me. But just imagine Glen in this light and then tell me I'm wrong for introducing the image. I'm trying to weave a story here, give me a break.]

Now Pugsley! Now Pug-Ops!
Get out of your crates
You've found your new homes
And it's gonna be great!

With deception abundant
He summoned poor John
Who had no idea
What was going on

The surprise on John's face
When handed his steed
Was the stuff that this season
Is built on, indeed.

********************

So in only slightly more coherent fashion, here's the deal . . .

Glen owns and runs Elephant.  John helps him, in his "spare" time.  These two guys are both really, REALLY passionate about bikes.  I don't pretend to know anything about the business or the details of how they interact, but it's pretty clear that they really appreciate each other and that each others' decades of  two-wheeled fixation and accumulated knowledge and experience have come together to evolve the Elephant effort into something amazing.  It's a huge privilege to hang out in the shop and listen to them talk about what they are doing and what they see as the future of what's cool and right in the world of bikes.

So this past weekend, as I understand it, Glen and his wife Krista are out and about . . . and happen to run across a bunch of fatbikes in a shop . . . and happen to get some wild idea . . . and before you know it . . . two new fatbikes are in the mail.  One for Glen, one for John.  Which is so damned smart . . . fatbikes are still niche enough that's it's three times as much fun riding your fatbike with another fatbiker as it is riding your fatbike alone.  (Although riding alone is still pretty much a bushel of fun, let's be real.)

So Glen went through a few scenarios about how to surprise his buddy, and in the end it was a small hang at Elephant headquarters tonight.  The execution was superb, which resulted in a stymied and tongue-tied Mr. Speare, which is a rare feat. Even if for just the few seconds it lasted.

So cool.

And of course I'm very excited that a couple of guys I really dig have joined the fat fold.  I think they're/we're in for a lot of fun.