Sensory Cycling

Mountain biking in the snow at Mohican. Photo courtesy of Brad Cook

Sight: The trail was covered in snow, frightening obstacles obscured under a thin layer of nature's finest flakes. It was a pristine powder on the singletrack, the terrain to the left and right was not as white due to the foliage that broke up the snow's continuity. The tread of the rider in front was stamped into the agreeable alabaster blanket, mapping the right and wrong paths to follow. The curtains of leaves that provide a rider with solitude in the warmer months had been flung open to reveal more of the forest. The new view of a familiar trail made our surroundings almost foreign.

Sound: Shifting gears, the thud of a rider hitting the earth after discovering a patch of ice, the laughter of adult males enjoying their bikes like children, those were just a few of the audible delights detected on Sunday's Winter biking excursion. Although we rode in a pack, it seemed I could only detect noise my tires made as they crunched the snow and limbs below. Mohican was quieter than usual, the snow absorbed many of the natural sounds we normally take for granted, creating an even more peaceful ride.

Smell: This one is more difficult. Not because I don't remember, but because it lacks the romanticism of the prior two. The day's aroma for me was supplied my own balaclava. I had worn it on a run earlier in the week and had forgotten to wash it. It was dry, but traces of an earlier workout could be detected by my olfactory system. It was not too intense, but a mere reminder on occasion to keep up with my laundry! We have all been there, done that.

Taste: The tongue had to work on Sunday as well. I started my ride with a Wheaties power bar, chocolate and peanut butter danced on the buds of my tongue, creating what I believe is one of the most perfect flavor combinations ever! Cold water from my Camelbak had to replace the much preferred tall glass of milk to go with my energy bar. The water was cold and refreshing, probably better than milk anyways. A friend supplied the post-ride banana to begin the recovery process.

Touch: My shoulder, knee, and head never touched the ground on Sunday, although my shoulder did brush up against a few adjacent trees as I navigated the narrow path. I could feel my back tire slipping every so often. The snow and ice forced my core to work overtime on Sunday, staying upright was a full-time job. My thighs burned, my shoulders grew weary, and my toes were cold. None of that mattered because my heart was beating and very satisfied!

Sixth: I detected a stronger mountain biker on Sunday, I climbed with a confidence obtained from a winter of torturous workouts. I descended with a carefree nature associated with a person half my age. I cleared icy rock gardens with enthusiasm, not the trepidation usually reserved for my first few rides of the new year. I felt a little bit more like a mountain biker on Sunday. Success!