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IN SEARCH OF DIRT.

...and really good barbecue.

By Gruber Images

January 20^th, 2016

again.

Everything has gone so well up until this point, but there was that one turn, that led to that next one, and now, there’s mud everywhere. It’s an absolute mess. The road is a trough of red sludge: it’s bad and getting badder, and Thomas and I are laughing while doing our best not to crash in it.

It’s a pretty normal Athens winter day, and there’s no place I’d rather be.

athens.

I often wonder if maybe we shouldn‘t be in Australia or Argentina shooting the early season races, but whenever that happens, I look down at my BBQ sandwich and my legs splayed out in front of me on the ground outside of the gas station leaning against some firewood - two or three hours into the ride, two or three hours to home - and I think - nahhhhhhh.

As I creep into my thirties, I wonder if I‘m getting older, and it scares me. Then Thomas texts, and he has an idea for a ride, and we’ll ride tomorrow at 11, but really, it will be 11:30, because we’re both always late, and it doesn’t get dark until almost 6:30, so it doesn’t really matter. What’s the rush?

I’ve found my fountain of youth. It‘s tearing down dirt roads, talking shit, playing with friends like I used to when I was ten. I go to bed looking forward to waking up in the morning, eating some Lucky Charms, then going out to play all day.

I run out of the door, late and excited, and it feels like all I need to do is yell out: “Bye, Mom! Going out to play - I’ll be back at dark!”

Door slams.

The voice of my mom follows too late, “Ok honey, be safe!”

it started out so well.

Athens has a lot of dirt to offer the intrepid bike rider. If you head south or east, there’s all the dirt a person cares to handle. If I ever bought the huge, detailed map I always say I will, put it up on the wall, and highlight the dirt in red…there’d be a lot of red.

When I first started riding the dirt, I was on 20c tires, eventually 23s. Flats were a constant companion. It didn’t deter us in the slightest, but there was always the great encouragement provided by the imminent threat of flats to take it very easy on the downhills. It’s a fact - research says that 95% of all flats with road bikes on dirt come from going too fast downhill (well, my research).

We had a new weapon though - Cervelo’s new C5. It’s billed as an adventure/endurance bike. It’s light, stiff, hydro disc, smoooooooth, and it enables us to do things we otherwise wouldn’t do on dirt - ride without a care in the world. No more caution, just carefree enjoyment on my dream roads. The bike is lovely on paved roads, but it comes alive in a huge way when sun-beaten gray asphalt turns to red and orange hard-pack dirt, and the pebbles crunch beneath our wheels.

Armed with this new magic bullet, Thomas and I had two goals:

1. Ride as much dirt as possible in as short of a period as possible. We worked out a solid stretch of dirt that lasted 25 miles.

2. As with all the best rides around here, the lunch stop was of paramount importance - only slightly less critical than the route itself. A little Google searching, a little Yelping, a little more reading, and we had ourselves a lunch stop worth looking forward to: CJ’s Barbecue in Woodville.

The plan was simple, the route was sound, and the weather smiled on us.

the quiet.

There’s little traffic in rural northeastern Georgia. Once you turn off the pavement and hit the dirt, little traffic turns to zero traffic. The only company are a few abandoned houses, some dogs, and the sun peeking through the pine trees.
This is my happy place.

I never feel more alive than I do on my bike - and I never feel more alive than I do in Athens, rolling down some forgotten road - peering left and right constantly at a crumbling ruin of a house, at some horses, at a forgotten small cemetery hiding in the woods, at the stinking chicken coops, and my favorite of all - that new road I‘ve never ridden - where does it go - what‘s down there?

I never feel better than when I’m riding those roads with a friend at my shoulder talking (or a tiny bit behind, because I’m a terrible, lost soul of a half-wheeler). I can’t remember most of the conversations I’ve had on the bike. Exercise-induced amnesia. I do remember the feelings though. I remember them vividly, and the feelings are good, they’re happy, they’re the best feelings.

halftime!

25 straight miles of dirt wore on us. It sounded good on paper, but it was quite another thing to pedal it. Like everything, there’s something to be said for moderation - a little bit of pavement every once in a while doesn’t hurt. I think that one particular stretch of dirt is best saved for special occasions - when new friends come to visit.

Tired gave way to excitement as we pulled up to CJ’s Barbecue.

eat all the things.

CJ’s was good. We ate a lot, definitely too much. I got back on my bike a while later groaning from the burden of a pulled pork sandwich, mac and cheese, fried okra, corn bread, and at least three big cups of sweet tea. I love sweet tea.

back to work.

I had been complaining about my stomach only a minute before - and then the mud arrived. I can’t remember ever thinking about it again.

Before I forget - this section - while I don’t intend to ride it ever again - was a LOT of fun.

transformation.

Black tires, black rims, black jerseys, black shorts, black saddlebags, black bikes - all got a nice coating of orange.

Sidenote - that fork looks like a complete mess, but it rode fine. If we had been on normal bikes with normal brakes and normal clearance, I probably wouldn’t be writing this story, because that would have been the most miserable experience ever. The mud cleared easily when we got out of the trough, and the only real lasting effects from our adventure were dirty bikes, dirty kit, and angry, yelling chains.

the inevitable.

Inevitably, the pavement turned to dirt, which turned to mud, which turned to muddy double track, which turned to muddy grass, which ended up in a small creek - no road or path anywhere. We forded the creek, took a moment to let the water do some much needed work on our wheels, then kept walking through the woods. We walked for a few minutes and ended up on an old hunting track - and were finally back to riding.

my dreams.

Once we had passed through the mud, crossed the creek, walked through the woods, and were back on our bikes, I had a moment - a smiling, giddy, ecstatic moment.

I love Athens. I dream about Athens when we‘re anywhere but Athens. I dream about this. Drop me anywhere, and I’ll still dream about road names like Nowhere, Jefferson River, Colham Ferry, Wire Bridge, Jerusalem; towns like Royston, Bowman, Toccoa, Madison, Alto, Lula, Maxeys, Woodville.

necessary ingredients.

It’s hard to shoot this area. The roads without my people aren‘t all that much. The roads can‘t keep it afloat by themselves. The list of ingredients for a happy place is pretty simple though - nice road, add friends, mix in some hard pedaling, a great store in the middle of nowhere, a hard ride home, then dinner that evening? Now you have something special.

And in this case, that road that started out as a completely public and normal road, somehow turned into a private road somewhere probably during the hiking session. It’s ok, no one saw us.

heading home.

I don‘t take many pictures in Athens. I always mean to, but I never do. For a while, I thought maybe I was uninspired or something, but it’s not the case. I realized that I’m distracted. I’m distracted by friends and conversations and riding hard and not wanting to miss anything. I’m selfish in Athens. I do what I love - ride bikes, hang out with friends, explore, smash.