stor30Odyssey

2001 a Coe Odyssey

Where does it end?

Happily back at the trailhead with a cold ale in my right hand...

I want to tell about all the rides I went on in Coe last year, but there's an idea in my way. Before I can explain anything about the rides and the trails I have to consider the roads we took getting to them.

These roads lead to other roads and other rides in other places. Many of these other places compete with Coe, in my mind, for desirable riding terrain. Hwy 49, 89, and 20 are conduits to mtn bike meccas like Downieville, Tahoe, and Shuteye. Taking these roads to rides over the years have always taken me back to rides in Coe, which I have adopted as my mountainbike home. In my mind, all roads lead to Coe. Even a distant road in the Italian Dolomites can lead to Coe. And by commutation, any trail in Coe leads us anywhere in the world.

A journey is a route that spans a connected sequence of paths. We link the paths by their names in a list which defines the journey. One starts a journey from an origin. This is the beginning place. The traveller moves forward in time and space at various velocities. The recollections of places and events along the travellers journey accrue imperfectly in memory.

A highway is like a traveller's journey. A traveller's journey is like a life. A trail is like a highway. In fact a trail is a highway, with very little traffic.

My own journey as a traveller through life upon this Earth started, it seems, at a place that I had no choice about. Initially I had no map to follow, none of us do. I also didn't know that I was going anywhere, or if I had a choice. Some elders told me about destiny. Others told me about determination. I had no idea where life could lead me. Later I learned that life is a journey. I searched for maps to guide me and help choose a destination and stops along the way.

The maps I found were hard to read. Perhaps I lacked the tools and instruments to read them and follow them properly. All of the places that looked tempting and fulfilling also looked incredibly distant and perilously difficult to reach. I tried moving towards these goals, but tempted by impossible shortcuts, and distracted by detours to curiosities, I discovered I was even further away from the journeys end than I had thought. I lost maps. I bought new ones. I tried making my own. I kept getting lost scores of times.

I'm still lost. I've long since forgetten where I'm going. Sometimes I'm just thankful that I am still alive. Other times I lay awake at night, lost, trying to figure out how to get back to a better place, how I got here, and where I should be going, or regretting wrong turns I have made. Most of the time I am consumed by the journey itself; The spectacles by the wayside, and the hard labour of moving forward crowd my concentration. I trip. I fall. I get up. The weather is not always pleasant. Usually my sleep comes easy because I'm exhausted by day's end.

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A mountainbike ride is like a life's journey in miniature. The differences are crucial, however. For one thing, you have a fewer choices of where to go. Really, what the hell am I driving at?

The answer is: If I knew where I was going, I would probably be there by now, because I would have figured out how to get there. I want to find out where I'm going by going there. When I get there, I expect that I'll know where I was going, and recognize it. But I don't even really know where I am sometimes.

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Last year I went out on some incredible rides in Coe. Most of the time I picked objectives such as Pacheco Falls for the grandeur, Coit Lake for the swimming, particular climbs and downhills for their challenges, or obscure trails for the novelty; and found satisfaction in achieving them. As good as that may sound and feels, I keep going back because I know that I've been missing something out there. Something has escaped my notice and I am looking for signs of it. I even ended up crashing and breaking some bones looking for it, and no, breaking bones was not the answer either.

I know, in my heart, that I won't find it. Sometimes I think I'm searching for a trace of the "Garden of Eden", an original place which we've been cast out of. Coe reminds me of that place sometimes. I think I like mountainbiking because it makes me feel like I'm getting closer to "it" everytime I manage to spend a good time in the woods. The faster I go downhill, the closer I get.

When I forget myself, and lose my mind in the maze of trails and the management of speed, obstacles and endurance, I am nearly there, and I feel as though I am arriving, and I feel the joy of actually being there. The anticipation is like the freefall of a sattelite in orbit over an infinite horizon.

I feel like I can't get high enough to see. My drug is mountainbiking. A freeride rig is like crack.

A ride in Coe can kill you.




	2001 a Coe Odyssey Where does it end? Happily back at the trailhead with a cold ale in my right hand... I want to tell about all the rides I went on in Coe last year, but there's an idea in my way. Before I can explain anything about the rides and the trails I have to consider the roads we took getting to them. These roads lead to other roads and other rides in other places. Many of these other places compete with Coe, in my mind, for desirable riding terrain. Hwy 49, 89, and 20 are conduits to mtn bike meccas like Downieville, Tahoe, and Shuteye. Taking these roads to rides over the years have always taken me back to rides in Coe, which I have adopted as my mountainbike home. In my mind, all roads lead to Coe. Even a distant road in the Italian Dolomites can lead to Coe. And by commutation, any trail in Coe leads us anywhere in the world. A journey is a route that spans a connected sequence of paths. We link the paths by their names in a list which defines the journey. One starts a journey from an origin. This is the beginning place. The traveller moves forward in time and space at various velocities. The recollections of places and events along the travellers journey accrue imperfectly in memory. A highway is like a traveller's journey. A traveller's journey is like a life. A trail is like a highway. In fact a trail is a highway, with very little traffic. My own journey as a traveller through life upon this Earth started, it seems, at a place that I had no choice about. Initially I had no map to follow, none of us do. I also didn't know that I was going anywhere, or if I had a choice. Some elders told me about destiny. Others told me about determination. I had no idea where life could lead me. Later I learned that life is a journey. I searched for maps to guide me and help choose a destination and stops along the way. The maps I found were hard to read. Perhaps I lacked the tools and instruments to read them and follow them properly. All of the places that looked tempting and fulfilling also looked incredibly distant and perilously difficult to reach. I tried moving towards these goals, but tempted by impossible shortcuts, and distracted by detours to curiosities, I discovered I was even further away from the journeys end than I had thought. I lost maps. I bought new ones. I tried making my own. I kept getting lost scores of times. I'm still lost. I've long since forgetten where I'm going. Sometimes I'm just thankful that I am still alive. Other times I lay awake at night, lost, trying to figure out how to get back to a better place, how I got here, and where I should be going, or regretting wrong turns I have made. Most of the time I am consumed by the journey itself; The spectacles by the wayside, and the hard labour of moving forward crowd my concentration. I trip. I fall. I get up. The weather is not always pleasant. Usually my sleep comes easy because I'm exhausted by day's end. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A mountainbike ride is like a life's journey in miniature. The differences are crucial, however. For one thing, you have a fewer choices of where to go. Really, what the hell am I driving at? The answer is: If I knew where I was going, I would probably be there by now, because I would have figured out how to get there. I want to find out where I'm going by going there. When I get there, I expect that I'll know where I was going, and recognize it. But I don't even really know where I am sometimes. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Last year I went out on some incredible rides in Coe. Most of the time I picked objectives such as Pacheco Falls for the grandeur, Coit Lake for the swimming, particular climbs and downhills for their challenges, or obscure trails for the novelty; and found satisfaction in achieving them. As good as that may sound and feels, I keep going back because I know that I've been missing something out there. Something has escaped my notice and I am looking for signs of it. I even ended up crashing and breaking some bones looking for it, and no, breaking bones was not the answer either. I know, in my heart, that I won't find it. Sometimes I think I'm searching for a trace of the "Garden of Eden", an original place which we've been cast out of. Coe reminds me of that place sometimes. I think I like mountainbiking because it makes me feel like I'm getting closer to "it" everytime I manage to spend a good time in the woods. The faster I go downhill, the closer I get. When I forget myself, and lose my mind in the maze of trails and the management of speed, obstacles and endurance, I am nearly there, and I feel as though I am arriving, and I feel the joy of actually being there. The anticipation is like the freefall of a sattelite in orbit over an infinite horizon. I feel like I can't get high enough to see. My drug is mountainbiking. A freeride rig is like crack. A ride in Coe can kill you.