While it wasn’t quite worthy of securing a top-ten spot in Outside magazine’s “51 Perfect Things” list (March, 2010), I did pay particular attention to their #41 pick: Empty trailheads.

While nearly every one of the 50 entries surrounding #41 required a paragraph of explanation, justification and rationalization, this one demanded absolutely nothing of the sort, instead standing all-alone on its own merit. And perhaps rightly so- arriving to a crowded trailhead is most certainly cause for a wave of depression to sweep over even the most socially adept mountain bikers among us. It’s an especially bad indication when you struggle to find a place to park/ unload. Make no mistake, every other car, truck, or SUV full of fellow riders I’ve encountered in the parking area of a popular local trail have never been anything less than courteous, friendly and sometimes downright helpful, there is just something about approaching a crowd of strangers that counteracts the implied fundamentals of the perfect ride. Perhaps this is because the presence of fellow human beings, regardless of their demeanor, is the inherent opposite of escapism.

Worse still is that a crowded trailhead is the unspoken inference of a crowded trail, something that very few riders enjoy. Try as we may to avoid allowing others to influence our pace, it’s pretty hard to enjoy the scenery when you have someone riding your rear wheel; likewise it’s tough to feel satisfied with your pace when someone twice your age happens to drop you like you were a trailside tree stump.

All such things are of no concern when you pull up to the trailhead and discover not another vehicle in sight; relief further compounded by the fact that briefly flashing your BVDs while changing into your baggies doesn’t have to be done Chris Angel style (behind the wheel).

While this issue is MBT’s unofficial celebration of the end of a long, obnoxious New York winter, I won’t lie and tell you that it hasn’t been the memories of last summer’s riding exploits that have kept me motivated these past few months of snow-induced shut-in-ism. One particular memory that seems to keep resurfacing just so happens to be the very first road trip/ride my fiancé and I embarked upon last season. It was accomplished with much internet mapping assistance several nights prior and a well planned trip to the store to ensure camelbacks would be filled with sports drink, packs with trail mix, first aid supplies and a digital camera or two to boot. Cell phones were fully charged and we found the trailhead to the State-approved riding area with relative ease.

Surprisingly, and despite the trail’s close proximity to a major highway, we were the only vehicle in sight to turn into the parking area. We unloaded the bikes, stretched a little and mounted up in complete privacy before pushing off into the shady comfort of a well groomed, if slightly muddy, multiuse trail.

Like all memories, this one’s getting more and more patchy with each passing month. I seem to recall it in a series of individual scenes now rather than as one continuous adventure and yet the one thing that endures in crystal clarity is that completely empty trailhead. Maybe that’s because I had the presence of mind to pull out the digital cam and snap a shot to immortalize the moment or maybe it isn’t. Perhaps, and in agreement with the editors of Outside, it’s just one of those subliminally gratifying situations that we recognize as special whenever they happen to occur.

In any event, here’s to the onset of another riding reason filled with adventure, scenery and the potential for memories to last deep into the next off-season.