Forced Face Plants

It seems that no matter how much you plan for disaster, a smarter disaster comes along and ruins your plans.
I have always been one to read and study about the hobbies I enjoy, but I finally found a mountain bike 'gotcha' that no one would have thought of. Everyone knows the importance of carrying tools and stuff to prevent you from having to supply a ride for your bike when it breaks down. What would happen if the bike was not broken, but you had to carry it out anyhow? Are you prepared? Probably not.

I figured it was the usual ride I took every other day - over the two hills and into the field for some maniacal single-track. Today it was raining, but I really love mud, and I had been to this place before without incedent.

Today I would learn that mud spelled backwards is "dum".

I hit the first jump just fine, but in a lower gear to facilitate the potentially slick landing. Once back on the ground, I rocketed towards the first turn - a nice left-hand sweeper strewn with rocks - at 70% of maximum pucker-factor speed. Feelin' good!
Hammering down the singletrack I notice that the bike is getting harder and harder to keep moving. Since I was moving at speed, I did not notice that mud was caking up under my front fork and my rear brake. A few feet later I feel the need to go into a lower gear to keep moving - I guess I attributed this to deep mud, but thought nothing of it at the time.
About 20 yards later the bike rapidly slows, and I now have the bike balanced on the front tire - I am not moving. As with any good circus-balancing act, what goes up must come down. My graceful nose-wheelie was reduced to a beautiful face-plant with a half-gainer (toes were pointed) on the way down.

Ok, how did I end up in front of the bike with a locked front wheel and mud divots in my nostrils?

Inspection of my rig revealed that the mud had caked up under the front fork, filled to capacity, and then locked the front wheel to the fork with the packed-down mud. My rear tire was about 20 feet from doing the same thing becuase when I cleared the mud from the front, I got about 20 feet before the rear end locked up and stopped me again - this time without the ensuing face-plant.
To compound the problem, dismounting the bike resulted in mud caking to my shoes and making any manuvering almost impossible.
I tried about 5 times to clear the mud and press on, but it was to no avail - the mud would cake on faster than I could get moving. In my attempts to get the bike running I ended up in the mud 3 more times, and filled my shoes and pedals with even more mud.
Futility hit me like a 747 lands on a runway. I was a mile from anything other than mud, I had 5 pounds of mud on my body, another 10 pounds of mud caked into the bike, the bike would not roll, and I was almost completely exhausted.
My kingdom for a Helicopter.
Hiking out would prove to be nearly fatal - I was so tired that I could barely carry myself much less my 27 pound bike with the extra 15 pounds of mud on it. I decided to sit down and try to muster some strength because I was close to passing out - I could not get any more air in my lungs no matter how hard I tried.
I considered abandoning the bike until I could come back, but come back with what? There was not a car, other than a Hummer, that could get back into the field I was in so I knew the bike needed to be hiked out even if it killed me. It almost did.
Taking 10 yard sections, I hiked the bike out one section at a time with rests in between. There were times when I saw those little lights you see seconds before your face meets the ground when you pass out. It scared the crap out of me, and I was probably 4 miles from my house. I could have been 40 miles from my house - the situation was very grim.

In times of duress you start to think with an unmatched level of clarity. I was thinking of all the rides in places where I could have biffed it and had no one to get me out. Here I was about to be had by mud just a few miles from my house, and I had gone rock-hopping in a creek just a few weeks earlier where I could have crashed and no one would have found me for a freakin month.

It took nearly an hour, but I slowly crawled out of the field and got to some pavement. I used my shaking, oxygen-starved hands to clear as much mud as I could, put the chain back on, and try to keep moving. I kept hoping someone would see me covered in mud, crouching next to my sick bike, and come over to ask if I needed help - no go, I never saw anyone. After a half-bottle of water and a few confessions to the Holy One, I weakly pedaled back to my house as the rain came down in sheets and started to wash my poor bike for me.

I did make it home, but I never had such a scare considering that nothing on the bike or my person had broken.

When you go out on your road or mountain bike do not think you are mortal. We can prepare for many things, like broken chains or flats, but the thing that will kill you is something you never thought of.

Never ride without a helmet. Know your limitations. Forget the bike if you need help - its not worth it. Ride with a friend. Ride with a friend. Ride with a friend.

Live to ride,
Ride to live.

Flyin Al

Got a question for Flyin' Al?

If you have any fishing or mountain biking questions for Flyin' Al, you can send an email to: aeb@adobe.com

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