One of the great things about mountain biking, to me, is that so many rides end up feeling like ‘one of the best ever’. That’s probably an indication that MTB and me were meant to be. Or maybe a function of how many rides finish right at the bottom of fun descents, and the adrenaline is still pumping when it’s high-five time. Of course, certain rides stand out amongst all of the other ‘best-evers’ and I continue to think back on them as true classics. The reasons vary: the scenery, the company, the fresh loam, my bike running perfectly and I rode well enough to look like I deserved to be on it, the beer at the top, the beer and food at the bottom…it’s a predictable list.
On Friday’s ride, I realized that while all of those things are indicators of good rides – often great ones – I also discovered the key ingredient in the best rides. And that thing is the occurrence of an Octoflugeron and my ability to successfully navigate it.
What the fuck is an Octoflugeron? I’m so glad you asked.
[continued...]
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