It was the stuff that glorious, dirt-covered, root-jumping, death-defying, sweat-drenched, muscle-aching, breath-taking mountain biking dreams are made of. We woke early from the moderate comfort that our tent and sleeping bags afforded us. Being mid-November in Humbolt County, it was chilly but not cold. A soft dew covered the world outside as sunlight struggled to break through the low cloud cover.
The previous day had been spent looking for the perfect combination of single-track and camping accommodations(special care was taken in noting any "no mountain biking" signs for fear of being pepper-sprayed by the local authorities). Breakfast was prepared and eaten quickly, as we were both eager to get on the trails. Shivering over a cup of black coffee, we discussed which trail to hit first. We decided on a seven mile loop trail that appeared to be only a moderately steep climb, after all, it was the downhill we were looking for.
Although the trail made constant progress towards the summit of the mountain it was mixed with short, steep climbs, quick downward shoots, and plenty of flat spots, making the climb almost as fun as the descent. No more than two feet wide at a given point, the packed clay trail was littered with plenty of obstacles that tested our technical prowess. A failed bunny hop over a rock-lined runoff ditch left me with a slightly bent rear rim early on. A quick brake adjustment and I was ready to continue. Tight switch backs strained our balance as we continued to work our way up. Muscles ached. Breath was pulled in to our lungs, heated, and shot out in a billow of steam. It was getting steeper. We were getting tired.
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