It took place in the middle of a trail called Coyote Corridor. This trail is part of a ravine near my house, and indeed, coyotes do in fact roam that trail from time to time, almost as if they know that this trail is named after them. But this story is not about an interaction with a wild creature.
Instead, it was when I met up with a group of 7 fat bike riders. They were flying down this trail, and I decided to stop and watch this beautiful parade of high quality bikes and winter tights. As the lead rider approached me, cresting a short punchy climb, he said to me, “Good day for spiked tires, eh?”
By reflex, I proudly shouted back at him, “I don’t use studded tires.”
I think he shouted something back at me, like “Are you a complete idiot?”, but his voice was lost in the wind and the sound of metal spikes scraping the sheer ice beneath.
When they passed me by, and after I encouraged the last rider (I think I said something clever, like “The best for last, eh?”), I proceeded with my ride. But even though the riders had passed me by, his initial statement stuck with me as I negotiated the trails for the next couple of hours.
Much of the upcoming singletrack was either snow covered, flat, or even bare ground, due to the ridiculously warm temperatures we had the past week, and the riding was quite easy for me. And all the while, I congratulated myself for maintaining naked tires and experiencing the trails in their real state. It has been my opinion for years that going without studs provides the best opportunities to work on my balance and technical skills, anticipating slick spots and making the necessary adjustments to stay on the bike and to stay moving. I believed that it made me a better rider when I rode in the spring and the summer.
In short, I felt that I was the bike stud. When I drink my own Kool-aid, I like to think that my balance on the bike is second to none (well, apart from ridiculous athletes like Macaskill and Wibmer) and that it is sufficient to navigate difficult trails, even when they are shrouded in ice. And as long as the track is straightforward, as it was for the next little while, this illusion is upheld.
But then I come to a climb that is either completely icy or interspersed with icy sections, and I quickly rediscover that no matter how good my technical skills are, physics will beat me every time. No friction, no traction, and thus no climbing. My bike will come to a halt, and when I put my feet down, I end up sliding backwards with my bike in tow, which is not a very fun proposition.
And the trails that we have made in the nearby ravine have lots of steep climbs, which meant that I often had to get off my bike and try to hike-a-bike it up to the top. Often, this is no easy task, since I am walking on ice and I have no spikes on my winter riding boots. So I am slipping and sliding like a 1920’s slapstick comedy, and I barely make it to the top with my ego and body intact.
But these are not even the most challenging sections when there is ice. That honour goes to the downhill portions that go around a corner, with the trail being off-camber. When a bike goes around this kind of corner, all physics conspires against the rider and wants to throw him off the trail and down the bank, often directly into a thorn bush or headfirst into a tree. Seriously dangerous!
Again, the ravine has more than its fair share of such features. When I get to the top of them, I feel my heart rate going up and I know that there is a good chance that I am going to crash my bike in an awful way.
There are usually two strategies that I employ in such situations. The first is to take the uphill foot off the pedal and keep the foot out while I slowly … ohh so slowly … go down the track. If ever I feel my back end starting to slide out, I would put my foot down and make sure that my bike doesn’t topple and have me sledding over the edge of a cliff. There were moments when I came so close to doing just that, my bike on the very edge of the trail and the downward plunge just looming, ready to welcome me into its deadly embrace. On this ride, I proved to be lucky and when I emerged on the other end of the section without suffering damage, I would shake my head, smile sheepishly, and whisper to myself, “I live again.” So stupid!
The other strategy, especially when the trail is particularly treacherous and the consequences of failure would be mortal injury, is to get off the bike and to carefully lower my bike down the hill, trying very hard to keep my feet on the adjacent hillside so that my feet do not slide out on the trail’s slick surface.
I used both strategies far too often on that ride, and all the while, I was considering the wisdom of that rider’s statement: “Great day for spiked tires, eh?” I had to admit, when faced with the many life-threatening moments of that icy ride, that I was not enjoying myself. Not only that, when the ride was finished, my lower back was really feeling it, due to the frequent surprise jerks and yanks that come from riding on such an untrustworthy surface. It would have really sucked if, after suffering a terrible fall, I toasted my lower back and was unable to ride for the weeks to come.
As I rode the bike path back to my home, it had become clear to me that my future in fat biking would have to parallel the evolution I have experienced in winter commuting. Last year, I was so proud of myself for being able to ride the icy sidewalks on the 3 inch knobby tires of my hardtail, but there were times when those tires had slid out on me and if it wasn’t for my quick reflexes in getting my foot on the ground, I would have painfully slammed my entire body into the ground. So, I decided to put studs on my commute bike, and from then on, I have really enjoyed riding on ice, amazed at how stable my bike is on even the slickest of surfaces. It was a deal changer.
It looks like the next purchase for my fat bike will be a pair of 5 inch studded tires. They will offer the best of both worlds: big knobbies to give me traction in the soft snow, and plenty of studs to dig into the ice. I may not have as many opportunities to test my balance and reflexes, since the bike will be far more stable on the trails, but this will be more than made up for by the facts that I will be able to climb the iciest of hills and that I will not have to worry about dying. I will have fun, and I will return home safe and sound, able to ride again on the following day. The older I get, the better that sounds.
Being a stud is such an antiquated and male chauvinist concept anyway. Far better to be studded, and when I ride my future trails at their iciest, I will be sure to say to any rider that I pass, “Great day for spiked tires, eh?”