Yes this is a little old. I'm getting back into the groove....
The trails are rough, one giant rut, fallen trees, and frozen mud. The hills are tiresome, but we attempt to ride them all. As I dismount my bike and begin the trek uphill BA says, "yeah this isn't even rideable in the dry, in case you were wondering".
Then there's the moments where the trails flow, through the pine forest, down the descents. I'm permitted to lead the chase every once in awhile. I scream all the way downhill. Entertainment for the more confident BA.
I sweat like a fiend, we remove rain coats. It rains a lot, the trails are always muddy. If you want to ride around here you get used to the mud I'm told. BA reminisces of the "dry" summer, when they rode everyday. There's talk of changes to the trail, better drainage through a nasty mud pit, and the hill that he's only made up once without dabbing.
We return to the car. I'm exhausted. I never tire of hearing the old mountain biking stories. Races in corduroy shorts and waffle thermals. I'm reminded, I may never be that hard, no matter how good I get. We can only strive with all our technical gear and carbon bikes to retain the passion of corduroy shorts and waffle thermals.
It's the feeling in our guts, the highs and lows, the goals we achieve and the ones we don't. On these winter rides I'm reminded of why I pedal.