There it hangs. From a hook. Like one of those amazing cuts of meat in an Italian butcher shop. Only it is not cured meat. It is a mountain bike.
Not just any mountain bike, but an Ellsworth Epiphany 275 Enduro, equipped with some delightful bits from the Shimano XTR grouppo and suspended by Fox. It was sent to me by Tony Ellsworth himself to give it a go.
The problem is, the bike’s still almost brand new.
So many plans, not enough actual riding. And now the call has come—they want their whip back.
I had good intentions and wanted to thrash this beast…but too late now. I spent most of January on the road and the weather in Northern California has been so spectacular I’ve spent most of my miles on the road.
If we’re being totally honest, just pulling on my road kit, putting air in the tires and rolling out of the garage is almost too much after a long week at work. The thought of finding my CamelBak, hunting down my mountain bike attire, knee pads and the like, and setting up the Ellsworth, plus driving to the trailhead makes me look the other way. I ignored that beautiful steed.
But then that call came, so today was now or never. Do or die. Roll or something else. I needed to get my game face on. It was time to get down and dirty.
I pulled out the trimmer last night and I shaved my head. I’m not sure why, but it seemed to put my head in the right place. I pulled out my bins filled with used bicycle attire and I found one of my water reservoirs, filled it and stuck it in the fridge. I dug out my Teva Pivots (still not sure why they killed off this shoe), pulled out some dark socks, my trusty Kitsbow shorts and overshorts and spent some time in the garage messing with tire pressure and suspension.
I went to bed feeling excited and confident. But I woke up feeling like a poser. I love mountain biking, but it I’ve done so little of it lately. Maybe I’m too old. Maybe the trails will be filled with super fit riders with hairy legs, flannel shirts and waterbottles filled with Pabst Blue Ribbon. Maybe they will be able to smell the fear on me and maybe I should just stay home, shave my legs and ride the road.
So I decided to do what any God forsaken mountain biker would do when they are having trouble getting the party started. I threw my whip on the rack and drove straight to the donut shop. Not just any donut shop, but the Oakland famous Colonial Donuts.
I ordered up some horrible coffee and two chocolate cakes. I sipped my hot brownish caffeine water and scarfed my two tasteless treats and by the time I reached the trailhead I was ready to rock and roll.
The ride ended up being pretty nondescript. Which is to say it was not epic. Everything I pointed the Epiphany at was gobbled up. And she climbed the short and steep pitches and the long grinders with equal finesse.
I came back to the car after three hours of dirty business reminded of one thing and one thing only—never regret the things you do, just the things you do not.
I will be boxing up this beautiful steed here shortly and shipping her back to Tony. But not to worry—it is my understanding he has some new tricks up his sleeve, and I’m sure he will want to share.
