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The Mud Bandit

By Sean Harris

 

LOST: My mojo.

IF FOUND: Please return to sender.

You know you’ve been riding like crap when you keep getting your Insurance Group Number confused with your wife’s cell phone number. Ever since this past April when I inexplicably went over the bars off the edge of a bridge, I’ve had a hard time keeping the shiny side up.

I’ve done everything I can think of to keep the bike upright lately and nothing works. A few months back I tried carrying a four-leaf clover with me – it gave me a rash. I attempted to call on some magical single-track deity that I read about in the back of a bike magazine - he put me on hold. Heck, I even tried slowing down – all that did was make it take longer to fall.

What gives? I’ve been riding pretty darn good for over 14 years now. Sure, I’ve been a little slow at times, but I could always clear the technical stuff. I used to have catlike reflexes that could make a Ninja blush – maybe I’ve simply used up my nine lives?

Could it be that my old Cannondale is jealous of my new Specialized and has put a hex on me? I used to ride that C-dale like it was part of me. Together, we could climb any hill, bomb any descent, and clean everything in between. My Epic (which I truly do love) is a great bike that rides like a dream and looks good in the process. But, for some reason I just can’t make it out of the woods without laying it down at least once. Perhaps I should have listened to my C-dale in that dream where it said it would haunt me forever if I sold it?

I’ve been to the doctor too many times in the past year for bike-related crashes and each time I get the same ration of crap from the him about how maybe I should find a new hobby. Find a new hobby? He might as well ask me to find a new way to breathe. I live for this stuff. My office walls are covered in bike posters, my annual Christmas list reads like bike catalog, my garage looks like the headquarters for a bike gang, and one of my Jeeps is simply known as the bike-jeep. Find a new hobby indeed.

Of course my friends now think riding with me is a form of entertainment. Here’s a taste of what they’ve seen recently:

  • Me go head over heels off the edge of a bridge (me: broken rib and a separated shoulder; bike: bent bars, torn seat) 
  • Me flip over backwards on a climb (me: slight concussion and a chipped elbow; bike: crushed rear derailluer)
  • Me flip over the bars on a night ride (me: huge bruise on thigh, deep muscle bruise, sprained back; bike: taco-ed my front wheel, bent derailluer, brand new rear wheel knocked out of whack). I had to walk out of the woods after this one, get the Jeep, and drive in to rescue my bike.

I could go on and on, but then I’d look even more like an idiot.

I dunno – maybe I’m just getting older now and my reflexes are slowing down – nah, I’ll only be 35 in a few weeks and there’s lots of folks out there way older than me.

Maybe I’m thinking too much about work when I’m on the trail – nah, how can that be? I barely think about work when I’m there.

Could it be that I’m just not paying attention? Now that’s a possibility – after all, I did write half this story in my mind on the trail last night… right after I took another digger.