Today’s post will be brief, for I am returning home after a long journey.
“From whence?,” you may be wondering.
Well, since 2007 I’ve been drilling deeper and deeper into the so-called “bike culture,” and this past Wednesday I unwittingly hit some sort of mainline that burst forth with irate mountain bikers, as you’ll see in the comments section of the aforementioned post.
These mountain bikers informed me that I don’t know anything about mountain biking because I live in New York, and since I’m always striving to improve I resolved to educate myself immediately. So I hopped on a plane, engaged a pair of guides, and before I knew it I was here:
Apparently, this is the birthplace of mountain biking:
I was confused, because our bikes lacked the disc brakes and dropper posts and shock absorbers and electric motors that everybody knows are prerequisites for mountain biking:
And yet we were on a mountain and we were biking, go figure:
Incredibly, not only did I somehow manage to enjoy myself, but I’d even characterize the ride as transcendent–this despite the primitive equipment and the mediocre views:
[Whatever.]
And my quest for knowledge did not end there! Afterwards, we visited an institute of higher learning:
Here I contemplated ancient motor-less bicycles:
And I paid my respects to this guy, who is universally acknowledged as the father of mountain biking:
Alas, the time of my return to New York is nigh, but rest assured I’ve got plenty of reading material to study on the plane:
I will share more once I’ve returned and had ample time to unpack my steamer trunk.
