Love. Pass It On.

The first mountain bike I ever rode was my boyfriend’s sister’s Bianchi. And I pedaled that beast like a pro. Lugged its awkward, overweight frame up the “steep” hills of the (possibly illegal) mountain bike trail system that diverged off a nearby dirt road. Rebounded its rigid fork off rocks, roots and, really, just about anything that got in my way. And muddied its metallic finish when I sloshed through creek crossings aplenty.

It was love at first chainring "tattoo." And ten years later, I’m still in love with the sport (and the boyfriend).

Last week I had the desire to introduce someone new to the dirt. Naturally, I chose my fixie-riding, punk rock-listening, vegan brother. He was all for it. He just had to lose the tight jeans first. (Love ya, bro!)

He pedaled his sister’s boyfriend’s bike. (Pictured below—minus the dirt and profusion of tail lights.) It was awkward, rigid and only fitting for his inaugural ride.


We did the left loop at High Rocks—technical, steep, rocky—and he only crashed once. I think he’s a natural.

We cruised home from the trails on some back country roads and I yelled over my shoulder, “Did you have fun?”

“I loved it,” he responded.

Girls, Girls, Girls!

While vacationing in Park City two weeks ago, I found myself without plans on a Tuesday evening. A stop in the local bike shop, White Pine Touring, earlier in the week left me with an option to ponder: the Tuesday night women’s ride.

I’ll admit I was hesitant to partake in this local ladies-only ride at first. My two neighborhood shops don’t offer weekly women’s mountain bike rides…or any weekly mountain bike rides for that matter. Plus, I’d never ridden with only women before.

Admittedly, fear of the unknown frightens me—even when (especially when) the unknown involves a group of girls. Would they give my Racer X rental the once-over and pass judgment? Fortunately, my fear faded the moment I hopped on my bike and pedaled towards the shop. Really, it was just a ride. Just for women. Just for fun.

When I rolled to a stop in front of the entrance, my jaw dropped. There must have been 50 people waiting to pedal off into the mountains—fifty WOMEN! On MOUNTAIN bikes! And this happens every Tuesday! I joined the Level II- Endurance group on a ride that took my breath away, and not just because we were at high altitude (but that was part of it).


Miles of emerald mountains, crystal water and auburn sky greeted us at the top of every climb. Ride leaders positioned themselves at switchbacks chirping cheerful pointers as we pushed past. And in the last few miles of the day, the trail dumped us into the parking lot of a garage where a few older men were holding band practice. To their delight, we stayed for a song as the sun set behind us.


“Only in Park City,” the girl next to me shouted above the music.

You got that right.

Because I Got High

I’ve been a bit lax in getting a new post up here. It’s not my fault. I was high. Really high. Seven-thousand-feet-above-sea-level high. Spend 10 days in Park City, UT, and you too will forget you have a job, car and, yes, blog.


Yeah, we all know it has “the greatest snow on earth” (which I’ve been fortunate enough to test and confirm), but Utah has some of the greatest mountain biking on earth too—at least in my book.

I’ve been to Moab. I’ve pedaled Porcupine Rim, Slickrock, Amasa Back and Sovereign. Each one was mind blowing and unique—yet poles apart from riding Park City. The mountain town boasts more than 325 miles of trails: Singletrack. Doubletrack. Bike trail. Lift-served. We rode them all—Mid Mountain, Powerline, Tour des Suds, The Crest, Spiro, Spin Cycle—and never took the lift. (“That’s cheating,” Justin told me.)

The views at the top were worth every pedal stroke, muscle cramp and bead of sweat it took to get there.



And “getting there” was equally as stunning. Surrounded by stark white Aspens, we rode through burmed, rocky, switchbacking singletrack.


For the first time the terrain wasn’t the only thing that made the riding challenging. Altitude and heat made us East-Coasters take it easy. We learned the art of pacing, as I don’t think we ever truly adjusted to the altitude. And at the top of a steep climb on a triple-digit day, I blacked out. By myself. Summoning courage from my best friend, (for whom blacking out is a somewhat frequent pastime), I rehydrated, popped a few Honey Stinger chews and finished my ride.

Our stay in PC ended in a bar we frequented nightly to catch the last hour of the Tour and sip PBR pounders—Flanagans on Main St. On our last night in town, our newfound friend Tim (the manager with just three weeks on the job) was heartbroken when he found out his first “locals” were hopping a flight the next day. He shouted, “Last call” to a sparse crowd just as a group of unruly patrons walked in. But he let them stay, let us play Corey Hart from his iPod and laughed when an impromptu dance-off lasted until 2:30 in the morning.

We danced.

Luckily, I was having too much fun to take pictures.

Fair Hill 50-Miler

When I heard about the 50-mile endurance option at this past weekend’s MASS race, I didn’t hesitate to sign up. There are few things I’d rather do on a Sunday than ride my bike. All day long.

I even convinced Justin to join in some local race scene fun—no panniers necessary!

When race day rolled around, I rolled up to the start line with 17 seconds to spare—and four or so hours of shut-eye behind me. (Any sleep at all is thanks to Justin. He spent the night on the floor next to the 150-pound Newfoundland we were watching who was terrified of thunder!)

Our somewhat stormy start to the 2009 Fair Hill Classic turned into a sun-shining, warm-breeze-rustling enjoyable ride. The endurance racers pedaled through the woods by way of two large loops equal to 50 miles. The course was reminiscent of White Clay Creek—fast, windy singletrack—with a bit more roots and climbing.

2009 Fair Hill Classic MTB Expert Course at EveryTrail

Map created by EveryTrail: Share GPS Tracks

It was my first MASS race of the season and my second race for the EWR team. I took 4th in the Enduro Women category (averaging 8.6 mph on lap 1 and 7.6 mph on lap 2).


Justin took 12th in the Enduro Men category (10.7 mph on lap 1 and 9.9 mph on lap 2) and a friend we dragged down from State College for the weekend—who recently celebrated a birthday milestone—kicked our butts and took 7th in the Enduro Men category (11.4 mph on lap 1 and 10.2 mph on lap 2).

Maybe I should start turning laps to techno…

If You Haven’t Been to Raystown

Go. You'll love it. I promise.

We made the 4-hour drive last weekend, and after just a few miles on the trail knew we made the right decision.

Part pump track, part mountain bike trail, the new Allegrippis Trail System at Raystown Lake is thirty miles of machine-built merriment. We rolled, we swooped, we pumped. And the next day I couldn’t lift up my arms. Really.

Fun and (dangerously) fast, pictures really didn’t do the place justice, so we took some moving footage via the V.I.O.



…twice.



IMBA and the US Army Corps of Engineers did a darn fine job of creating a Mid-Atlantic mountain biker’s paradise. The place is likely everything you’ve heard, and more. We’re already planning a return trip in the fall (this time we’ll take advantage of the on-site camping with friends).

Just gotta build up some biceps first!

Rollin’ On Home

Now that Justin is home, we’re back to riding anywhere and everywhere. Last weekend we saddled up and set out on a bikepacking trek from Pipersville to Glenmoore.

Our 50-mile route (100-mile loop) took us through Hatfield, Collegeville, Phoenixville and beyond. We stopped pedaling a few miles past Marsh Creek State Park and spent the evening at a friend’s house to celebrate his visit from a far-away state. The next day we reversed our tracks, stopping in Phoenixville for an alfresco lunch.


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Fresh from racing the Tour Divide, Justin carried all our gear—which wasn't much. We traveled light and fast (OK, maybe just light...), sans sleeping bags, a tent or pads since we slept inside. We took with us minimal food, essentials to fix a flat and a change of clothes.



On the quiet—and sometimes unpaved—roads we passed long-forgotten farms, trickling creeks, fields of dandelions and covered bridges. While the rolling hills of the Pennsylvania countryside are a far cry from the regal mountains along the Continental Divide trail, our ride was nothing short of spectacular. I'm sure Justin was happy to be riding on home turf. And I was happy to be riding alongside.


**Oh, in case you missed it, Justin talked about the Tour Divide in his own words when he got home.